


Centers of the Universe

by 200percent_inlove



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Idols, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Awkward Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22413307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/200percent_inlove/pseuds/200percent_inlove
Summary: Strict as they are, it’s undeniable that Makoto Niijima and Ren Amamiya are both good idols and leaders. Which is why, to save their fellow group members from industry exile, they(in)voluntarily step in as tributes to break their falls – with a dating scandal of their own.Well, God fuckingshit. This ought to turn out well.Or, that one time where the Queen and the Trickster are forced into a pseudo-relationship - and end up falling for each other in the process.Idol AU.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Niijima Makoto, Kurusu Akira/Niijima Makoto, Niijima Makoto/Persona 5 Protagonist, Sakamoto Ryuji/Takamaki Ann
Comments: 72
Kudos: 114





	1. Makoto.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, P5 friends. It's been a while. I hope you've all been well! :D
> 
> For those of you who follow me on Twitter, you probably know that I have a longstanding passion for K-Pop (#STANREDVELVET LOL). However, despite my love for it, like most forms of media, it has its fair share of problems, which I'll elaborate more below. 
> 
> In any case, I really wanted to try out this idea for Persona 5 because we all know how obedient Makoto can be. By definition, she'd make the _perfect_ idol, being the type to never break rules. But when Ann gets caught up in a potential dating scandal, Makoto doesn't have much choice but to save her from getting ostracized by getting caught in a fake-relationship with someone of an equal caliber (AKA, Ren. LOL.) 
> 
> I know K-Pop and idolverses aren't everyone's cup of tea, but I hope you all enjoy. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to test out this alternate universe while combining my favourite video game characters with a hobby that is very dear to my heart. :3

If there was a textbook definition for a ' _good, exemplary idol’_ , then surely, Makoto Niijima would be exactly it. 

The older generation like her quiet displays of leadership and refined eloquence during interviews. She’s a marvel with words, they often compliment, with that natural capability of hers in knowing precisely what to say and what _not_ to say. Such a skill will take her very far in life – it's a conundrum why she abandoned her childhood aspirations of becoming a lawyer to debut as a pop idol. 

(Trust her when she says this. She often questions why she made such a ridiculous choice, too. Maybe she auditioned because the panelists enticed her with the alluring possibility of potentially meeting Kimura Takuya one day. 

And before anybody shoots her a judgmental glare, she’d just like to reiterate that there’s no shame in admiring boyish gentlemen _or_ collecting their shabby posters.

It's simply a part of the fangirl experience.) 

She charms the ‘ _journalists’_ (Because oh, **_yes_** , journalism school tends to teach their students to completely ignore ethics and tail after their targets in high-speed car chases down the freeway) with her modest elegance, effortless airport fashion, exclusive photoshoots and hot-hitting details on new album comebacks.

And by no means is she a graceful dancer, but she puts in double the effort for the stage as a captivating powerhouse vocalist. Billboard Japan proclaims her to be ‘The Best J-Pop Vocalist of the Decade (Thus Far)’. 

(Which, she’ll take this opportunity to clarify that she’s notproud of getting that coveted number one spot because:

a) She hates having to encourage the interviewers to add in that superscript for her commentary,  
  
b) She still has much to learn,  
  
c) It's complete nonsense that she would ever rank higher than that ten-year veteran who now stabs visual daggers into her back anytime Makoto passes her by and,   
  
d) It’s _Billboard_ , for Christ's sake: A troublesome and questionably reputable bunch.) 

On top of that, Makoto avoids the Six Deadly Sins like The Plague.

She doesn’t smoke.

She doesn’t partake in unruly behaviour ( ~~Unlike her damn labelmates who never clean up the practice rooms after using it. Absolute jackasses.~~ )

She doesn’t do drugs because her perpetually irate prosecutor of an older sister will probably dismember her body before she can be taken in for questioning.

No sneaking out after curfew.

No horrific social media past that could be used as leverage for future blackmail.

She grants the senior stylist full reign of her hair and wardrobe stylings (Horrible mistake, really – it'll be some time before she recovers from the hazel and lavender combo she donned last year. It did not do her so-called visuals justice). 

Oh _, and_ she doesn’t date, despite being ambushed continuously by sleazy seniors any time she's backstage at the music studio. It's not a case of undesirability; rather, a decision that she fully committed to after watching a senior labelmates’ concert DVD sales drop viciously low from a leaked photograph of him enjoying a quote-unquote ' _coffee break_ ' with a rival idol group member at the nearby establishment. 

(No caffeine was consumed. And for future reference, 'establishment' is often - not always, but generally - synonymous with 'love hotel'.)

It’s no wonder they eventually crowned her as the Nation’s Daughter-in-Law five years later. 

She's likable and friendly in her demure way, but majorly aware of her boundaries – and actually _sets_ them; knows her limited rights and innumerable limitations that comes with being a public figure; understands the appropriate time when to reprimand her fellow groupmates for misbehaving, but never too high on her horse or too snobby to apologize if she falls out of line.

She's doing her job just fine. Her members adore her. She has the audience wrapped around her finger. _And_ she managed to one-up her older sister, telling her that _yes_ , being a celebrity reaps many gratifying rewards, too. In retrospect, she actually _liked_ holding such a prestigious name to her belt. It's one that many would love to have.

But frankly, it's also one that comes with too many caveats and burdens too heavy to bear. 

* * *

See, the problem is, when one is five years into their career – no matter how much precaution is put into place to cushion inevitable backlash – slip-ups _are_ bound to occur. Makoto _wants_ to say that she's exaggerating, but it's the cold, hard truth.

She's seen it happen to the last woman who held that privileged label - granted, she wasn't performing at her best, but those pressures to remain perfect twenty-four-seven had eventually backed her into a rigid corner with no way out. The repercussions of measly mistakes were suddenly multiplied ten-fold.

Andt the simplest things ended up becoming a heinous crime. 

So that's why Makoto tries to convince herself that it’s human nature to make mistakes. Heck, she _is a_ _human being_ , after all. Her _members_ are human beings with – if it wasn’t obvious – real emotions and complicated feelings just like the rest of the general public.

And when they're constricted in an environment where pent-up hormonal urges are running at an all-time high during that turbulent transition from rowdy teenager to young adult, and fleeting sparks of attraction between good-looking labelmates aren't easily repressible, well, control isn't something that can be established in a ten-minute verbal warning before the start of an award show afterparty.

And this is where Makoto committed her first atrocity for the very first time in nearly two thousand days of never committing a fault: By granting a tipsy Ann Takamaki a rare chance to escape all _idol-esque_ obligations asked of her - _just_ for one hour.

As she soon figures out, one hour is also all it takes for reality to crash down upon them in the form of a fifty-paged tabloid magazine draft, brimming with nothing but ugly, monochromatic photos of two fuzzy blips with their arms encircling each other in a protective hold and their lips locked together in a passionate drunken kiss.

Heavy guilt purges through her system as the furious, disgruntled higher-ups gaze at her expectantly, impatiently. The rotund man to the far left looks close to seething, teeth barred and all, waiting for a detailed explanation.

She keeps her mouth sealed. Maybe, if she stays quiet, he won't try to probe and force an answer out of her - 

A banging _**thud**_ (Somebody's palm? Or a clenched fist? Or, just something that _can_ and _will_ do incredible amounts of damage?) soon follows a raucous, demanding bark of "Well?!" 

Nevermind.

Makoto sighs. 

She refuses to look at any of them - more importantly, her disappointed manager - in the eye. She's at a complete loss of words for what to say. 

There's no mistaking it. The fluffy pigtails. The slanted, uneven eyebrows. Or that God-forsaken wrinkled dress shirt, because _how many times_ has Makoto kindly advised Ryuji to iron out his button-downs lest he lands on the worst dressed list for the third consecutive year? 

(To be fair, critiquing his poor fashion sense isn't _exactly_ the most important thing right now.)

In times of absolute turmoil, where Makoto will suddenly remember that being a damned idol precedes all traces of humanity that exists within their very beings and that human fallibility is completely unacceptable, she reprimands herself, telling herself that she should've been harsher. But it's too late for regrets now, because in a world as cutthroat as this one, compassion and leniency, unfortunately, do not exist - 

(“I - we are **_so_** sorry!” 

“F-for real, yeah. I mean – like, really damn _sorry_. We fucked - screwed! _Screwed_ up – “) 

_Especially_ not for the Nation’s Favourite Girlfriend and the Nation’s Beloved Bad Boy.

Needless to say, it isn't a good look for any of them. But when the peeved managerial staff are looking for the very people who indirectly caused this mess, who else would they point their fingers at _but_ the two captains who failed to keep their members in check - namely Makoto Niijima, and Ren Amamiya?

Makoto takes one final look at the thick magazine in her hands before she scrunches it into a thick roll in her grasp. Instead, she turns her attention towards Ren.

Despite the involuntary spasms twitching in his cheek - a telltale sign of growing nervousness and trepidation - he still manages to push forth an aura of poised confidence that authoritatively commands the room. It's a trait that she once found irritating (Especially when he used that in combination with one of his cringe-worthy hand gestures), but has now become an admirable quality that she, too, wished she had.

Because right now, Ren is probably the _only_ person who has the highest chance of mitigating the situation. Makoto's not expecting a complete turnaround, but with him being crowned the agency's best of the best, they're bound to listen to at least half of his rationale - if not all.

 _Right?_

So, he sits, crossing his long legs over one another, with his hands folded atop the glazed surface. Dutifully, he clears his throat and slight hope tugs at her insides.

Makoto watches him take in a breath.

Inhale. Exhale. Takes one sip of water. Swallows. His Adam's apple bobs, forward and back. Cracks his knuckles.

For goodness sake, what will it take for her to develop momentary telepathy to scold him that ostentatiousness and over-the-top hand motions are _not_ going to help whatsoever? 

"Contrary to unpopular belief, I'd like to think that we're both excellent, competent leaders," he states finally. "It's just that - well..."

He shrugs, almost defeated.

"Even _we_ cannot get in the way of the course of nature of infatuation and young love between two youngsters when they're under the influence." 

The room suddenly falls eerily silent. 

Ann sinks lower than ever in her chair - if that was even possible. Ryuji lets out a violent splutter of a choke, spraying water everywhere. That irate casting director - having received a full mouthful of liquid to the face - looks on the verge of combusting.

Ren appears - completely unperturbed. Smugly victorious, almost. 

( _Great._ )

And Makoto, honest-to-goodness, wants to punch **_something_** right now.

Well, if there's one thing that she needs to admit, it's that Sae was right. She really should've given up on that idol dream while she still had the opportunity to escape. Being a criminal justice lawyer sounds like such a better alternative now.

* * *

Makoto spares a single glance at the wall clock, continuing its circular orbit.

It's eleven.

They've been here for nearly two hours now, sitting in the dusty meeting room on the dreaded sixth floor (Reserved only for the most problematic individuals: The worst of the worst. AKA, them.). Her back is aching. The stale air is stifling, near capable of asphyxiation (Hopefully her). The leather chair is unbearably tight. 

And Ann - oh, poor thing. She is in dire need of a tissue.

"It - it's not love! Honest! It really _was_ the alcohol!" She insists, pushing this narrative persistently with sniffling promises interweaved throughout her words that she would swear off from drinking bellinis and peach-flavoured _soju_ starting then. "M-my tolerance isn't that great and I - I wasn't thinking!"

(And a make-up wipe.)

"F'real!" Ryuji adds, scrubbing a non-existent itch on his chin. "And - and, y'know how I am! Me, w-with my head not bein' screwed on straight!" 

"A-and it was warm, wasn't it?"

" ** _Really_** warm!" Ryuji agrees, breaking into a near hysteric. "And - and that's why I had to - _y'know_ \- unbutton my shirt! Couldn't stand that heat!"

They can make up as many flimsy excuses as they want. At the end of the day, three facts are glaringly obvious.

First, the secret's out.

For now, they're spared from the wrath of the public eye, but time's dwindling faster than ever. If they don't offer a proper response within a day, their photos will be plastered everywhere. The younger trainees aren't saying much in front of their faces, appearing stoic and taciturn, but goodness knows they're eagerly anticipating the pathetic downfall of both Red Queen and Trickster Game. 

(Not because they're intentionally malicious. It's just that they want to debut too.) 

Two, rumours are already starting to spread.

It's not a question of who, what, when and where anymore; rather, _how_ it let slip. On one particular celebrity/idol blind gossip webpage that Ann frequents, a blind item describing an indecent, smutty encounter in a backstage dressing room was starting to gain traction, spreading faster than oil in water.

It's only a matter of whether the two letters - Ms. A, Mr. B, respectively - would be correctly identified before the release of the breaking headline.

And three, if it wasn't apparent already, Makoto doesn't want to be here. 

Ryuji continues his blabbering tirade of how _'no, Takemi-san, those are **not** hickeys on my pecs, I don't even **have** pecs - Whaddaya mean you're a licensed physician besides acting as our art director!? The hell! Ya can't even see 'em!_ '; Ann takes this opportunity to reach a hand over to paw at Makoto's shirt sleeve. That apprehensive look she's met with makes her stomach sink deep.

“Makoto," Ann whispers anxiously, steely-blue irises watery. "W-what are they going to do to me?” 

In cases like these, the levelheaded leader is _supposed_ to be the one to provide words of reassurance. _Should_ be able to tell her confidently, it'll turn out alright in the end. That there is a will, there is a way - and things aren't as dismal as they seem. That one heated kiss wouldn't be enough to break her. 

(Except, Makoto can't bring herself to spread lies.) 

"I - I don't know, Ann. Really. I'm _sorry_."

A series of sharp _tap-tap-tap'_ s pierces through the air, and Ann suddenly latches a vice-like, painful grip upon Makoto's wrist. It's not the crushing pressure of bone and flesh that captures her Makoto's attention, however; rather, it's the sensation of intense scrutiny that throws her into a near-nervous wreck when Kawakami calls out her name.

Eight pairs of piercing eyes take her in. Up and down. Left and right. The PR manager's lips curl into a sinister smirk, almost as if transmitting the message that she's utterly _fucked_. Fine, dislike her all she wants - but hey, Makoto has never liked her either, so that vulture of a hag can go jump off a cliff, for all she cares. 

But when _Kawakami -_ their understanding, patient and firm artist management leader, Sadayo Kawakami - has her normally kind brown eyes laser-focused on nobody else but her, it's enough to make Makoto squirm and jump all at once. 

"Niijima- _san_." It would have been better had she raised her voice, honestly. "You haven't said much throughout this entire ordeal. Tell me something. How in the world did the afterparty get so out of hand?” 

And when someone demands the truth, it's just common sense to give it to them - _**especially**_ when their eyes are burning gigantic holes right through the skull and into their soul.

* * *

Okay, so the truth is this.

Yes, Ann and Ryuji - codenamed secretly between both groups with the portmanteaus, RyuAnn and AnJi - are very much in love. 

Yes, Makoto had wholeheartedly objected to the idea when Ann first confessed that she was falling head over heels for the rowdy labelmate.

And _yes_ , Makoto braved harsh attempts (Many, many times) to point out the cons of the potential aftermath. She listed, made Venn diagrams, drew circle charts, created an entire spreadsheet in Excel filled with advice that Kawakami had given them during the dreaded "First-Year Debut Talk", full of cautionary warnings, zeroing in on the different forms of misconduct that could put their careers in jeopardy.

But is Makoto truly that ruthless?

Not really, as a matter of fact. She's not actually _that_ heartless.

> _Much to her dismay, the discussion had to happen in one of the older buildings in the Western wing. Upon stepping in, Makoto's urges for cleanliness started running at full throttle. And that slimy, used sock **has to go**. She pinched the bridge of her nose in utmost disgust._
> 
> _"Ren. I don't mean to nitpick," she chided. "But really, please do something about your practice rooms. It's filthy."_
> 
> _Her companion only flashed her a charming smile, offering her a seat on the sole unstained surface in the room. Even then, she perched herself on top of it precariously. "Chores aside, you didn't just come here to tell me off for that, did you?"_
> 
> _He caught her there. With a defeated sigh, she said, "Okay. Yes. You're right. I'm just - how are you so agreeable to this whole prospect, Ren? You need to understand that they're putting themselves at risk here."_
> 
> _Ren's brow quipped upwards as he contemplated her words. Sullen-faced, he muttered, "Them? I think you forgot to include yourself."_
> 
> _How in the world does he manage to twist her words to become so ill-intentioned? "Th-that's not what I meant!" Makoto attempted to clarify, huffily so. "It's just - "_
> 
> _"Of course not." A teasing smile started to curve upwards as he broke out into a laugh at her deadpan expression. "I'm just kidding."_
> 
> _"Ren, you **really** need to stop that lest you want to give me a heart attack."_
> 
> _"Jokes aside, Makoto, don't take their little infatuation as anything serious. In my eyes, if they're doing their jobs properly - " Ren paused, taking a moment to survey her rapt expression. "I really don't see why we as the leaders have to stop them from wanting to explore and date around. It's not fair, nor appropriate, to deprive our co-workers - much less, our friends - from engaging in a relationship now, is it?"_
> 
> _Come to think of it, there may be some truth to his words, after all. Ann's her own woman; she shouldn't be micromanaging in the first place._
> 
> _"Huh, I - guess that's true." Makoto couldn't help but return his smile with a small, approving grin of her own. "I never saw you as such an encouraging type."_
> 
> _"Oh, there is much you don't know about me that I would be more than happy to discuss outside of - " Upon seeing Makoto charging towards him with her clenched fist in the air, he immediately side-stepped swiftly around her. "Alright, alright! I get it! I'll stop!"_
> 
> _"Enough with that!"_

After that conversation, it was as if she had experienced a complete awakening: Frankly, if Ren could be supportive, then she should be, too.

Ann promised to be careful - and so far, they had lived up to that, hiding their growing affections for one another through cheesy grins exchanged in the hallways, fist bumps disguised as excuses to feel skin touching skin and impromptu cup _ramen_ dates in the emergency exit stairwell. Far away from prying eyes.

(Makoto loathes to admit, but over time, even she had to admit that it was cute. _It's freaking cute._ And it's the _only_ time that she ever craved a boyfriend.

There, she said it.)

And that's why, when she catches Ann and Ryuji rushing off to - _somewhere,_ with her platinum-blonde locks tousled one too many times and the sleeves of that lace one-piece torn here and there - she's wasn't _that_ angry. She caught on to that hungry, feral grin on Ryuji's face when the camera did a close-up on Ann's winking face during their performance. And there's no mistaking how eager Ann seemed, near ready to pounce from her chair when Ryuji tore his stage outfit to shreds.

Occasionally, Makoto does have her moments where she thinks that Ann could potentially do better, but she also knows she has no right to judge when the boy made her smile more than all of the heavy trophies she's carrying combined.

Now, on a normal day, Makoto wouldn't have given in so easily to Ann's crooning.

But on an evening like that where everybody's riding off the highs of their musical accomplishments, with people a little bit more than just inebriated and certain individuals looking far too irresistible for their own good, Makoto thinks the third youngest is deserving of some slack. 

So, it was agreed.

One hour it was, where they would have a moment to themselves to work out any sexual frustrations, permitting them to be as greedy as they wished. 

All they had to do was to remember to lock the damn door, and they'll have free reign to 'succumb to each others' ministrations' (Ren's words, **_not_** hers) if necessary.

Really, what harm could it do?

* * *

"And um, that's how - it went," Makoto finishes lamely. God, her face is burning right now. At least she didn't mention what was commencing _inside_ that dressing room.

Kawakami doesn't need explicit details.

To the side, Ren palms his forehead and mumbles, "So anticlimactic."

Makoto has half the heart to snap, "You were approving of this, too" but she bites her tongue. She'll save it for later. 

“Disappointing climax aside, I just want to clarify one thing." The black-haired woman pinches the bridge of her nose, wearing an expression of total distaste and fatigue. No wonder her face is riddled with deep creases and wrinkles. "The company has never forbidden you from dating, Ann, and you're an adult. We trust you to make your own decisions, but you need to understand your current circumstances and the duties asked of you as an idol."

Out of the quadruplet, Ann was undoubtedly the most popular member of the group, having rounded up enough fans to knock Makoto out of first place and into third during their annual ranking with her solo album activities and her upcoming debut as a supporting character in her first television drama.

All of that - and whatever potential opportunities she had left to break into film and full-time modeling - could vanish with just a snap.

The blonde hangs her head, murmuring, "I - I understand. And I - I apologize."

"But still," Tae chimes in with a frown. "It's unacceptable for the paparazzi to use this as collateral against us. We need to come up with something. _**Fast**_. We don't want to come to drastic measures of kicking out - "

And just like that, the waterworks come pouring down once again. That's enough tragic sobbing for one morning, Makoto thinks, sharing an exhausted grimace with an equally weary-looking Ren.

Or at least, that's what _she_ believed it to be: Simply a gaze offering condolences and sympathy. 

What Kawakami and Takemi saw, however, was an opportune chance for their two groups to be saved.

Kawakami speaks first, eyes alight with a dazzling spark. “Mako- _chan_!” 

“Eh?” 

And Tae smoothly steers the discussion with a curt nod at the lithe man sitting beside her. "Ren- _kun_."

"Yes?"

“You’re both the leaders of your groups." 

(To her far left, Ryuji mumbles, "And what the hell does that have to do with anything?!") 

“And you both have always had rather - clean reputations. Well-liked."

"Polite. Honest."

"Admired."

Now, being honest, Makoto isn't the type to pick up on signals or subliminal messages easily. Often, they fly way over her head - but in this case, there's a spine-chilling shiver in their words and that click of the tongue that makes her body tremble in fear.

“Now, let us backtrack for just one moment before jumping to anything," Ren interjects firmly. It appears that he's sharing the same suspicions as her, but she'll let him pick up. "We could always refute the statement by stating that it was a case of mistaken identity. Or, can't we even sue them for defamation?”

Or, maybe not. Makoto casts him a withering glare. "Ren. _**Please.**_ Did you forget that they're using this as blackmail against us right now?!"

"Oh. Uh." He slides back into a solemn, taciturn manner. " _Right._ "

She's not even sure who's speaking at this point, but there's somebody crooning in the background, "Oh, I can see it now!" 

"See...seeing... _what_ , exactly?"

There's a knowing smirk growing on Takemi's face. A devilish curve, foreshadowing of something horrific to come.

And Makoto doesn't like it.

Not one bit.

"An excellent solution to settle things, of course. What else?"

* * *

_(This really brings "I volunteer as tribute" to a whole new level.)_

When they said 'settle things', Makoto didn't think that they would end like _this_.

Surreal as it was with how quickly things were proceeding - and completely against her wishes and basic human rights governing consent - Makoto Niijima now has a quote-unquote boyfriend that she didn't even _want_ in the first place. 

"Not to offend you, Ren," Makoto clarified quickly as they're ushered out of the meeting room and into the elevator. "But - you're far from what I expected my _actual_ boyfriend to be." 

"I would be affronted," he replied. "But I think I'm too stunned to properly react right now, so, uh, tell me again after the news actually sinks in, yeah?" 

Six hours after receiving the draft, a breaking statement pops up on news engines that the gossip was completely off-the-mark. Nothing scandalous happened behind closed doors; just regular skin-ship: The hand-holding, the light pecks on the cheek, the works and makings of a fluff-driven romance. Perfectly suited for two unassuming charismatics.

(Although, Ren's _really_ starting to grate her nerves.  
  
"Makoto. Please put in some effort. We can't share this photo with the world if you're looking miserable."

"Trust me, Ren. The world is not going to give two damns on whether our hands are interlocked properly."

"Your 'couple ring' - "

"And they are **_NOT_** going to care if I wear the ring on the wrong finger!")

And most importantly, Ms. A wasn't the cheery, peppy rookie actress/model/idol singer that was adored from the snowy mountain peaks of Sapporo to the rocky, volcanic cliffs of Kagoshima. And Mr. B wasn't everybody’s favourite delinquent who screamed his lyrics and willingly performed dangerous acrobatic stunts in the air for the sake of a good performance. 

It was, as a matter of fact, the Nation's Daughter-in-Law, and the Nation's Son-in-Law, slowly transitioning from work colleagues to 'happy, shy lovers'.

How fitting.

And Makoto's phone is now teeming with angry, livid notifications from her sister, interrogating her to no ends on contraceptive use and demands of ' _How can you not tell me?!_ ' 

( _And oh, was this was going to be one painful experience._ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the premise of the story is based on this little bit of background.
> 
> Idols kind of come as a "package deal", made to deliver a make-believe fantasy to their fans while playing into this carefully curated role that their agency specifically designed for them. Any time they step out of that line, sometimes, it's game over.
> 
> One prime example would be relationships. Unlike the Western world where dating is acceptable, idols literally can't. Unless the two individuals caught are a) Veterans, b) Have never been embroiled in any sort of controversy on their own or c) Are generally less problematic/more likable, dating appears to be some kind of felony in the eyes of the general public. They're not very forgiving and can be relentlessly cruel.
> 
> (I've seen it happen at least five times now, and the subsequent reactions are less than pretty. [Here's an example that happened several years ago if you're interested.](http://netizenbuzz.blogspot.com/2014/06/dispatch-catches-taeyeon-and-baekhyun.html))
> 
> Here, the management is pushing for Makoto and Ren to pull this stunt - because, they're marketed as mature, well-behaved, respectable and have left significant strides in the music industry under their leadership. In a way, their dating would be more "acceptable". ([Just looking at the comments, we see a very drastic comparison to the above case, right?](https://netizenbuzz.blogspot.com/2019/12/changmin-confirms-his-first.html))
> 
> But of course, with fake-dating tropes and all (And this being purely fiction and I can warp these characters to do whatever I please LOL), what else can we expect but even more shenanigans and messy feelings? ;D 
> 
> (I feel like I just gave a whole lecture rather than give a story LOL.) 
> 
> Thanks for reading! See you guys next time! :3
> 
> P.S. [Also, yes, "Nation" titles are a big thing, lololol. Ren and Makoto's titles are very fitting, aren't they? X'D](https://www.koreaboo.com/lists/16-korean-celebrities-probably-didnt-know-national-title/)


	2. Ren.

Ren Amamiya has always abided to the strict code of maintaining a low profile –

Which, to be honest, is quite an oxymoron, considering that his current career often does the complete opposite, foiling plans of privacy via yellow journalism and baseless accusations on the front page.

(The weirdest claim being that he was the long-lost second cousin twice removed of Yui Aragaki.

Like, okay. That’s enough fictional bullshit for one day.)

Frankly, it’s a wonder why Ren made such a decision to surrender normalcy when he could’ve applied for a blue-collar job like the rest of his high school classmates. Had he told that stubborn casting director to ‘ _fuck right off and go to Hell, I’m not in the mood to entertain a shitty scam dancing underneath my nose_ ’, he probably would’ve graduated from Waseda University and started his day-to-day cycle of Eat, Work, Sleep and Shit as a software engineer with Panasonic by now –

But the thing is, when you’re seventeen-years-old, fueled by a fiery, impassioned fascination with rap (Especially from the likes of the talented Kendrick Lamar and J.Cole) with a tenacious drive for music, you’re _not_ exactly in the right headspace to listen to logic and reasoning. College applications and redundant statements of purposes are brushed away, thrown out the window in favour of scrawled lyrics and potential song scores that were kept underneath the bed. Stability in a low-risk industry (A la, biomedical engineering as his mother had urgently pushed) no longer appealed.

Rather, it felt – tedious. Boring. Lacking excitement.

Instead, when you're seventeen-year-old, you eventually become fixated, easily so, on slick flowery words like, ' _You’re the last bit of finesse that we’ve been looking for’._ Any potential issues associated with propelling stardom are overridden immediately. In one ear, and out the other.

His parents saw this as an obvious honey trap; bright-eyed, naïve seventeen-year-old Ren Amamiya thought otherwise.

It was a goldmine of opportunities awaiting him.

And one brutal year later, at the fleeting age of eighteen, Ren was instantly catapulted to prominence as the leader of one of the most anticipated and respected boy groups of the generation, reaping in the massive fruits of his labour in the months to follow. Digital sales; song chart all-kills; albums flying off the shelves; sold-out concert arenas, ugly but profitable merchandise and, most importantly, chances to work with esteemed producers that he could’ve only imagined during his adolescent daydreams. There's no denying it. Truly, he’s fortunate. This was all in a day’s work for him when some of his fellow trainees could prepare all their lives, but would never live to see it.

Ren enjoys his craft. _Really_ , he does.

It’s just that – well, like most public figures, he _does_ miss the privileged freedom that a regular civilian has. While his friends were out on blind dates, drinking themselves stupid (As every self-respecting graduate student would), here _he_ was, faking his smiles as Excelsior’s poster-boy, nodding his head attentively as the charismatic, cherished Joker while sauntering down red carpets to shrill screams demanding autographs that left his head pounding for hours on end.

It wasn’t an easy transition, requiring much practice, self-composure and innumerable lessons on media training on his end. Eventually, though, Ren became accustomed to the blinding cameras and microphones being shoved into his face wherever he went, treating it as a mere nuisance.

(Plus, that year-long advertisement contract provided him with an added incentive of free drip coffee for six months. What’s not to like about that?)

Yet, for some strange reason, the paparazzi appeared particularly insistent when it came to him. Unperturbed, they pressed on, fighting the hordes of pubescent young girls to chase him down – on multiple occasions, to add, nearly landing him in a brutal motor accident – gluing their lenses on his every move, clinging to him more tightly than his overly attached ex-girlfriend from junior high school. 

And he’s not sure why they held such a deep-rooted fascination with him. He just doesn’t understand. They’re just as well-versed with how the world of entertainment works; they should be aware that it’s all a front. A persona. Isn't it obvious that he’s not the same fucking person as Trickster Game’s cocky, debonair Joker with the guttural, raspy voice that rapped stories of broken hearts from misunderstood playboys? Plus, he minded his own business. He didn't do anything questionable to attract unnecessary attention - all he yearned for was a high-quality recording studio to produce music the way he wanted. What didn't they comprehend?

His members, of course, were no help in this regard. 

Yusuke Kitagawa – self-proclaimed oil painting expert, nimble lead dancer and Oricon’s ‘Prettiest Flower Boy’ – tries to point out his air of nonchalance that deems him as ‘ _too_ pretentious’. That, confident and self-assured as he may be, he has to be holding some deep, dark secrets waiting to be uncovered.

(Wrong.)

Ryuji, on the other hand, thinks it has something to do with his _face_. When pressed for an answer, the blonde couldn’t give it to him directly. Instead, he went around and around in aimless circles for a good ten minutes before stating that it was just a certain quality in those bushy eyebrows and the apex of his ski-slope nose that simply screamed trouble and rebellion: The perfect makings for a breaking scoop.

( ** _How very fucking_** **_wrong._**

It's **_Ryuji_** who shaves them to the point of no return.)

Suffice to say, Ren’s love-hate relationship with the gossip columnists has been more than tumultuous.

But here’s the wise advice that Iwai and Kawakami so often told him during bouts where his near-quarter-life crisis (AKA, the first year of debut, where he was full of nothing but uncertainty) was at full steam: So long as he didn’t have any skeletons hiding in his closet, why should he be so concerned over what printed paper and nonsensical slander said about him?

“It’s all libel, made out to tarnish you in the end,” Kawakami explained matter-of-factly one evening after their third fan-signing event. “But your idol image does not correlate with your personal life, Ren- _kun_. You know that. Let them talk if they wish.”

“Kid, leave it to us and just stay the upstandin’ person that ya are,” Iwai advised from the front seat, cracking his knuckles with a rather grim line set on his stony, chiseled face. He wasn't their bodyguard for nothing. “We’ll protect ya if we have to.”

For the most part, Ren took heed of that advice – but it’s not like it required much effort.

Because underneath his flashy exterior, he was still very much a good kid and continued to do good by occupying himself with meaningful hobbies that subsequently named him the Nation’s Son-in-Law for his giving nature soon after. He engaged in volunteer activities at orphanages and soup kitchens secretly, promoted donations to select charities in place of pricy fan gifts that he could purchase with his own money, read self-help books, made hefty monetary contributions under the pseudonym of Akira Kurusu, delivered excellent fan service without becoming overly sentimental with flamboyant promises to be his fanbases’ ‘eternal boyfriend’. 

So, theoretically speaking, there was nothing remotely _"bad"_ that the news networks could hound him for. Nothing to report. And having grown fed up with Ren and his "unremarkable, humdrum lifestyle" after two and a half years, they eventually left him alone - 

Only to tail after the troublesome Ryuji Sakamoto instead. The Nation's Favourite Bad Boy. 

Which, now that Ren's _really_ thinking about it, probably isn't that great of an idea with all things considered. 

Unfortunately, Ren only realizes the severity of the situation now, where he finds himself staring at unflattering photographs of him and his new ' _sort-of-but-not-really_ ' girlfriend, Makoto Niijima, holding hands. Engaging in skinship that his rabid fanbase desperately demanded between him and Yusuke. Set in the center of the online news bulletin.

And for the first time in all five years since debuting as a pop idol, it finally dawns on him that he should never trust the words of his agency so easily. Because as evidenced, they were more than willing to throw them under the bus so long as their cash cows were saved from impending doom from their sacrilegious, unholy antics.

What a time to be alive.

* * *

> **[EXCLUSIVE! BREAKING!]**
> 
> _SHUJIN & ASSOCIATES: Nation's Power Couple, Joker and Queen, Confirmed to be In a Relationship - ‘From Work Colleagues to Coquettish Lovers of 3 Months’_
> 
> _Reported By: Yuuki Mishima_

  
A tiny, pixelated photograph of the author – a meek, modest-looking man with bulging eyes that looked near ready to pop out his sockets – immediately draws Ryuji’s attention. He seems to be combing his brain for something, deep in thought with his short brows furrowed before drawling, obnoxiously loud, “Waaaait a sec. Don’t you guys remember him? He was _tryin_ ’ to audition, just like us! Can't believe he ended up as some scummy tabloid reporter!”

"Wait. Who?"

Tapping his finger forcefully against the screen (The boy is in desperate need for a manicurist), he continues in a ballistic shriek, “The guy with black hair!? He called himself fuckin’ Master Mishi or somethin’!”

“Ryuji.” Yusuke pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperation in full bloom. “Do you not understand that this is _Japan?_ I dislike generalizations as much as the next person, but I can guarantee that at least ninety-eight percent of the general population has black hair. You need much more distinctive descriptions than just pigmented shades of hair.” 

“The dude who couldn’t rap to save his life!” Ryuji spits through gritted teeth.

Mild fascination is drawn out from the lead dancer as he says slowly, "A prospective rapper, you say? How awful was he?”

“For- ** _get_** prospect – uh, whatever ya call it! If ya remember that idiot who tried Kendrick Lamar’s Humble, then – “

Realization dawns at last upon the pretty boy’s face, and if Ren’s vision wasn’t deceiving him, a flicker of an unamused eye roll is detected amongst the backdrop. It figures. While Yusuke’s much too sophisticated to waste his time on incompetent ruffians, he stores every horrid audition in the back of his brain. It serves as a harsh reminder that such people existed, lest he ever falls to such levels.

(Plus, it comes as a form of motivation for him to continue training hard. See? Two birds, one stone.) 

“ _Oh_. **_Him_**. Yes. Well, as we know, his talents – or, lack thereof – are atrocious.” Craning his head towards Ren’s side, he squints at the neatly-typed font. “Is his writing any better?”

“Read it and weep, Yusuke.”

> _The music industry is in a complete uproar today after the leaders of famed musical acts, Trickster Game’s Ren Amamiya (23) and Red Queen’s Makoto Niijima (24), are revealed to have been dating for the past 3 months. Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but it’s time to do some much-needed Spring cleaning and get rid of your dedicated shrines! They’re both off the markets now!  
>   
> _

  
“Now what kind of preposterous journalism is **_this_**?” Yusuke scorns, utterly disbelieved.

“Sensational,” Ren mutters dryly. “To say the least.”

“Hey. Hey.” Ryuji pounds an eager fist against said man’s arm, brown eyes alight with slight pleasure. “Keep goin’. This is actually pretty interestin’.”

“May I kindly remind you that we wouldn’t be **_in_** this mess had you remembered to lock your damn door?” 

“Eh, forget that!” A calloused, plucky hand reaches forward to snatch the tablet from Ren’s clutches. “Fine! _I’ll_ read it if you're gonna act like a dick! Ya ain’t the only one who understands words, y’know!”

> _Insider information discloses: “It was Ren-kun who developed affections for Mako-chan first. He liked her sense of maturity, responsibility, and intelligence, especially when she provided him with moral support during periods of hardship. Ren-kun lovingly confessed, ‘she’s like the ideal study partner. Somebody I can learn from’.”_
> 
> _Well, it appears that it isn’t just the crimson-red rubies that have left him in a doozy! Japan’s beautiful and dutiful daughter-in-law Mako-chan managed to hit all of the requirements for Ren-kun’s ideal type, prompting him to pursue her!  
>   
> _

  
“Hey. What **_IS_** your ideal type?”

Yusuke thumbs through something on his phone before replying, his pitch monotonous and devoid of amusement, “As per the most recent interview conducted, he seeks companionship in the form of a respectful, empathetic girl with an easy-going personality.”

“Really, dude?”

“As we all know,” Ren replies, his tone as parchingly dry as the scorching dunes in the Egyptian deserts. Why does he even bother? “Lying is second nature in this profession. Take that as you will.”

No matter how tight-knit he and his members are, he’d much rather willingly have a coconut hit his head before confessing his **_actual_** ideal type.

(Just. No. There’s enough judgment going on with them mocking him for his 'constant eyelid spasms'.

“It’s not a twitch. They’re called **_winks_** , Goddamnit.”)

> _Against all odds – especially in this dog-eat-dog industry where something as innocent as dating can demolish all of their hard work in one sweep – Ren reportedly “initiated the chase after Makoto. It took some persistence, especially knowing how Makoto doesn’t give in to temptation so easily. But eventually, his pining paid off. She finally reciprocated his affections warmly.”_
> 
> _Rumour has it that Ren also specifically penned the Summer hit, Starlight, for Makoto as a gift to commemorate their first monthiversary. However, the agency has neither confirmed or declined this. Still, if it was, wouldn’t that be a delightful start to their story?  
>   
> _

  
“K, I fuckin’ love gossip as much as my mom, but the way he’s writin’ this like it’s some shitty Wattpad fan-fic makes me wanna **_puke_**!” Ryuji seethes. “And you’re tellin’ me this guy – this _Yuuki Mishima_ – he went to university after failin' to pass the first rounds?”

“And this matters to you, how?” Yusuke questions with a professionally raised eyebrow. “If anything, you should be gratified this isn’t you.”

“Now, now, Ryuji. You should cut him some slack. We all have to start somewhere,” Ren chides. “Even if it means for a shitty publication that loves embellishing tales.”

> _It looks like nothing can drive these two lovebirds apart, especially when our hard-working FRIDAY staff –  
>   
> _

Ryuji looks on the verge of throwing his hands – and the expensive tablet – into the air in sheer defeat. “Hard-workin’ my _fuckin’_ ass!”

Yusuke quickly grapples the older mans' arms in a squeezing hold. “Ngh! Will you calm **_down!?_** ”  
  


> _-Managed to catch a glimpse into this pairs’ growing partnership on the evening of February the 13 th (Just one day prior to Valentine’s Day; how romantic!). The two decided to spend a tranquil, peaceful evening together, holding hands (Wearing matching couple rings too!) whilst walking to a nearby coffeehouse for a late-night pick-me-up. Oh, to be this bold and unabashed – how scandalous!  
>   
>   
> _

And there, positioned in a 4 x 4 format, were four blurry candid shots, all of which looked incredibly staged to an untrained PR representatives’ eye.

The first, Ren has his hand raised, while Makoto cast a friendly smile at the open space before her. If Ren's being honest, it was pained. How Yuuki Mishima managed to describe this as passionate and lovey-dovey is beyond his comprehension.

The second, Ren was scratching the back of his toque-covered head with Makoto feigning a chuckle. He, too, remembers that she was choking out her stilted laughter in the most unnatural way possible. She didn't say much, but she was most likely ridiculing how pathetic her idol life had panned out.

The third – after much prompting and encouragement behind the scenes – Makoto _finally_ folded her hand over his. Whose was sweatier? Uh, probably his.

And last but not least, the cream of the crop, Ren was pictured with his head eagerly angled forward while Makoto whispered something into his ear. The public viewed this as a daring peck on the cheek. But of course, it was nothing of the sort. Instead, he remembers it being a scathing remark of “ _I can’t believe I’m doing this with you._ ”

Appalled, Yusuke stammers, “W-who took these?!”

“Ohya- _san_ obviously. What’s up? Is her aesthetic not good enough for you?”

“Ugh. No.” God, _please_ don’t let him vomit up his breakfast in the practice room. “It’s just...t-the more I read his writing, the greater my urges to purge my eyes with bleach.”

“Second-floor broom cupboard. Knock yourself out.”

> _Unfortunately, FRIDAY is unable to confirm whether this will move on to anything more serious. Only time will tell if this proceeds any further beyond the honeymoon phase. In the meantime, FRIDAY is happy to report that the nation’s gems are definitely seeing each other with good feelings.  
>   
>   
> _

“Someone! Tell me what this so-called Honeymoon Phase is.”

“Ryuji,” Ren prompts with a curt nod of his head. “You’re rather well-versed, aren’t you? Tell him.”

The flabbergasted boy turns uncharacteristically flush, his cheeks imploding to the colour of a ripe tomato. “Ah. Well, uh – I uh – “

> _The agency responds with the following statement._
> 
> _“There is not much more that we can say beyond a verbal confirmation from both parties. As we aim to respect our artists’ privacy, we encourage that all fans do the same and cheer for them from afar.”_
> 
> _And FRIDAY will do just that! Congratulations to the nation’s newest power couple, RenKoto/MakoRen! We wish them a long-lasting, healthy relationship!_

  
  
Dismal as the reporter may have been with his descriptions, it wasn't the content in the article that intrigued the trio the most. Rather, they scrolled down the screen to skim through the comments and reactions that followed.

It wasn't surprising that most of them had high numbers of upvotes, brimming with overwhelming positivity. Again, it's one of the joys - and possibly, pains - of being regarded as the nation's most coveted public figures in the entertainment industry. Kawakami and Tae’s strategy of using him and Makoto as scapegoats were working like an absolute charm.

  1. _[+12, 451, -1, 928] Oh, my God. They’re dating?! They must’ve been very discreet and low-key about it because I had never expected this to happen. Ah, but they both seem like good, hard-working people and aren’t overly open about their relationship, so I wish them nothing but the best TT_TT_  

  2. _[+9, 741, -1, 895] They seem very compatible together. I mean, they’re called the Nation’s Son-in-Law and Daughter-in-Law for a good reason. He’s looking at her with so much adoration in his eyes. I want a boyfriend like this. Be happy, you two, and enjoy an everlasting love in your twenties!_  
  

  3. _[+8, 472, -1, 247] I met Mako-chan and Ren-kun at separate fan-signing events once. They’re very kind-hearted, humble and considerate of their fans. What a match – a handsome devil with such a pretty girl! Life isn’t fair sometimes._



  
One _really_ took the cake, leaving Ren bursting in ugly, dry-heaving chuckles.  
  


  1. _[+5, 233, -430] Just a reminder to all you stupid fangirls: Even if Ren-kun wasn’t dating Mako-chan, he wouldn’t date any of you guys either._



  
But some were less than accommodating. Ren did receive a few rude insults directed at him (Namely pointing out unchangeable flaws, such as his unkempt hair that ‘made him look more homeless than ever’), but nothing hurled at his face could ever cut it close to what Makoto had to deal with.  
  


  1. _[+1, 283, -7, 411] Senpai, why this bitch?! I’m willing to give my life for you, and this is how you treat us?!  
  
_
  2. _[+1, 402, -8, 597] Ugly, ugly, ugly, ugly. She is SO UGLY!  
  
_
  3. _[+862, -5, 011] One of my seniors went to cram school with her. Apparently, she was always stuck-up, snobby and thought she was too good for the rest of her classmates. Clearly not the Daughter-in-Law that people put on a pedestal! Ren-kun has such poor taste in women!_



  
Online harassment wasn’t a foreign concept in the music industry. It’s just a side effect that comes with steadily growing popularity. Even Ren himself received a daily slew of hateful words and verbal abuse through their YouTube videos, live chats, and news articles that he brushes aside with a laugh.

For the members of Red Queen, though, the snide remarks that plagued their content seemed exponentially greater than any other D-list girl group. They called Ann a ‘ _promiscuous slut who spread STDs faster than the melting ice caps in the Arctic Circle_ ’ (How poetic). They gossiped about Haru’s wealthy background and spread stories of how her father – the CEO of some fast-food chain – bought her way into the group. They shamed Futaba for her clunky dance moves, under the guise of constructive criticism, with additional remarks of ‘ _Maybe this misfit shouldn’t be in the group after all_ ’. 

And with the cat out of the bag, Trickster Game’s crazed fanbase was now foaming at the mouths, zeroing in on the seemingly harmless Makoto with a relentless attack on her character.

Whether this was a case of loathsome jealousy or resentment over the newly-budding _pseudo_ -romance, Ren wasn’t too sure.

What he was certain of, though, was the fact that Makoto did not take this type of negativity lightly. Having been acquainted with her for half a decade (And a little more), he’s come to understand her like an open book. Not to say that he was extra perceptive when it came to her, but six years is more than enough time to pick up on tiny quirks in her body language and subtle differences in her mannerisms whenever she wasn’t feeling her best. They just stick out like a sore thumb.   
  
And in a situation like _this_ , no doubt would she be trying to hide her discomfort, dissuading her members from pushing the topic forward while keeping her frustrations to herself, braving through the messy turmoil with a seemingly steady façade alone. 

“Y’know,” Ryuji blurts out, snapping Ren out of his train of thought. “I feel like Makoto would make a pretty good girlfriend. Heck, maybe if she smiled a bit more – ‘cause right now, like that last picture, right? She looks like death’s bitin’ her ass or somethin’.” 

Harmless as the blonde’s words may be, it immediately strikes a nerve with Ren. Yusuke's wise enough to slink away from the drama waiting to unfold, fumbling with the stereo system. “Ryuji, here’s a suggestion. Maybe try to save those comments to yourself?” He advises icily, snatching the tablet away from his finicky hands. “It’s not like she wanted to get roped into this on her own accord.” 

“Alright, I’ll stop – but don’t think I don’t see ya, man!” Ryuji watches the taller man get to his feet, pocketing the device back into its case. “She is your _girlfriend_ now, right?” 

“Also, a good time to remind you that, a) You, too, have a girlfriend, and b) You see _nothing_.” With that, Ren aims a painful kick against the unsuspecting blondes' behind, leaving him yelping at the sudden attack. "C'mon. Our session is over. Let's go." 

* * *

Just after five o’clock, Ren makes his way through the maze-like corridors of the agency building to reach the East wing. Admittedly, it's a little embarrassing that he's trained in these very same rooms - yet, he _still_ couldn't tell the difference as he shimmied between floors. He has a good explanation for it though: He barely ventured here, as the East wing was reserved for female artists and trainees only.

 _And all the more reason to avoid this place_ , Ren concludes with a grimy smile on his face as a group of young girls – five in total, bright-eyed and ecstatic at seeing their senior labelmate up close – coincidentally tumble out of a dingy practice room just as he passes them by. The accompanying stench, an overpowering whiff of vanilla, honey and clover (Did they _drench_ themselves in body spray or something?!), nearly flared up his Spring allergies.

A bold, round-faced girl speaks first, screaming at the top of her lungs, “Amamiya- _senpai_!” 

“Hi there,” Ren greets pointedly, reminding himself that _yes_ , he, too, spied on that attractive senior girl group visual during his trainee days from the prison-like confines of his practice room and sought out any opportunity to exchange a word or two with her so, _no_ , he shouldn't behave rudely. “Um, did you happen to see Makoto?” 

“Oh, yes, speaking of! _Senpai_ , I – “

Ren watches, bemused, as her svelte-looking companion juts her elbow painfully into her ribcage. “We! Use _we_!”

Sweet-talking at its finest, he thinks. “ _We_ just wanted to wish you uh – congratulations on your relationship, _senpai_. You must be so thrilled!” That spiteful glint twinkling in her eyes seems to speak otherwise. Still, he lets her continue, folding his arms across his chest. “Niijima- _san_ is an absolute gem, and we hope nothing but the best for you two!”

“It’s quite entertaining that you would refer to me as _senpai_ while you would use another honorific for Makoto,” Ren remarks. Her mouth drops open, flabbergasted, and he feigns ignorance, continuing, “But thanks, nonetheless. We’re very happy. Now, where is she again?”

They point out the last practice room, tucked away at the end of the hallway, and Ren continues his trek towards it, shaking his head all the while. As soon as his back was turned, his ears catch crass, insensitive curse words directed at a ‘ _non-stylish hag who will never be on par with Ren-senpai_ ’.

Disappointing. The differences in treatment between male and female idols – not just from the public, but from their trainees also, no less – will _never_ cease to fascinate him.

Sure enough, Makoto’s alone. He watches her pace the room in a circular, voodoo-like trance with her hands folded over each other. A lone microphone sits on its side on a nearby table, accompanied with her buzzing mobile. Jesus, did she never shut that thing off? And how long has she been in here?! Judging by her sweaty appearance with her hair matted against her face, the answer appears to be hours. Maybe she was practicing her adlibs for their latest title track. Kawakami _did_ tell her to take the day off, but then again, this is _Makoto Niijima_ that she's talking to.

Makoto Niijima **_never_** takes breaks. Not even when nursing a 100-degree fever. 

Although, then again, keeping herself cooped up and isolated while engrossed with activities was just one of Makoto’s many coping mechanisms when she desperately wished to escape reality. She did it two weeks before her debut showcase to relieve stress. She did it for five hours after her first solo album release just to prevent herself from checking the real-time chart rankings for her title track.

This time, though, it doesn’t seem to be working. 

Ren pushes the door open by a smidge, and he’s barely a step in when he hears her worried voice echo, “Why does everybody get on my case? I didn't ask for this to happen." 

He blinks, letting her words sink in for a moment before wincing. Looking at her now, crestfallen and discouraged, Ren instantly finds an inexplicable tightness tugging at the back of his throat. Suddenly, everything that he’s complained about this arrangement thus far seems so elementary compared to what Makoto has to endure. Poor girl: Always getting the short end of the stick. 

Still, he swallows down his bundle of nerves and raises his fist to knock tentatively on the doorframe. 

Makoto looks up with apprehension written all over her face. Upon recognizing him, the worry instantaneously fades into relief. “Oh. Ren. Nice to uh – “ She struggles for a moment, pausing to find the appropriate word. “See you.” 

“Hey.” Ren lets the heavy door swing to a close behind him with a deafening slam, and she crosses her arms protectively against her chest. It looks like she’s _still_ wearing that ring, he notes. Albeit on the wrong finger, but it's still there, glinting in all its stainless-steel glory underneath the luminescent lighting. How peculiar. “Sorry, I know it’s rude of me to invade your private space like this. What were you doing? Practicing Egotistic again?” 

A wry grin creeps onto her face, but it fades quickly. “How’d you guess?” 

_Six years of knowing you will teach me certain things, Makoto._ “Oh, you know, just a hunch.” 

Makoto pulls out a second chair for him. “I was done, anyway. I was planning on coming over to the West wing to find you. In a way – ” Her words falter as she takes in his appearance wearily. “I’m glad you made the first move. I think my anxiety is getting to me.” 

“Unfortunately, I’m not the bearer of good news, either. I won't beat around the bush.” Ren unlocks his phone screen, presenting the online article to her. Makoto reactively flinches at the sight of the large, bolded text. “I presume you saw it? Master Mishi’s finest work to date, I think.” 

She tries to smile, but there’s nothing in her voice that conveyed mirth. Heaving a sigh, she complains, “This Mishima- _san_ is truly a man of many words.” 

“Abominable grammar and word choice aside, how did your members react?” 

“Ann is sincerely apologetic. I think she went to grab _mochi_ for me as a way of saying sorry. As for Futaba and Haru, well, they aren’t saying too much.” Makoto shrugs, rolling her shoulders back. “They know how I am. I just need some time to um, process my thoughts.” 

“Then, perhaps a penny for your thoughts?” Ren questions softly, hoping it would be enough encouragement for her to spill out her unease. “You can tell me what you think, you know. It’s only the two of us here right now. And I am your – ” He air-quotes dramatically. “ _Reluctant_ - _Boyfriend-That-You-Don't-Want-But-Am-Stuck-With_.” 

Still, Makoto remains eerily silent, barely cracking a laugh. Ren lets his arms fall into his lap, patiently waiting for her response, but with each passing second, shameful regret continues to grow in the pit of his stomach. Maybe this wasn't the best idea, interrogating her right from the get-go. He makes a mental note to be a bit gentler when it came to matters as sensitive as these. 

“I just – “ Makoto says finally, breaking the heavy silence. “I don’t know how to _take_ it, Ren. There’s too much for me to process. The day has been too – “ 

“Eventful?” Ren offers sympathetically. 

“Right. From the hour that we received their threat, to Kawakami and Takemi- _san_ willingly giving us up in favour of Ann and Ryuji – it all happened too fast. And to make matters worse, my sister is asking way too many questions and she isn't happy with any excuse that I give her."

Ren's spine freezes at the mere mention of Makoto's older sibling. He's met the woman once or twice: Beautiful, but radiating murderous intent wherever she walked. "Y-you mean, the prosecutor, right? She's - she's not going to _murder_ me, is she?"

"Well," Makoto replies stiffly, evading his scrutinizing gaze. "Uh, not quite."

 _Not quite._ Relief rushes through his being as he mumbles a quick prayer to the heavens. Thank _fuck._

"But on top of responding to her messages, there’s at least a minority that isn’t pleased with the news.” 

“But the bright side is,” Ren replies slowly. “As you said, it’s a minority. Most of them were supportive.” 

“I know but – “ Her grip on the frayed fabric of her sweatpants tightens, almost vice-like, and her voice grows small. Weak. Vulnerable, in a way. “This isn’t something that I can automatically pinpoint and _fix_ , do you understand? I'm fine with criticisms directed at my lack of coordination and skills. Even if it's something that attacks my vocal ability. At least I can improve on that! But Ren, a few hours of dance practice isn’t going to alleviate their displeasure. And – “ She chews her bottom lip, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m not _you_ , Ren. Unlike you, I’m not the type that can take these comments in stride.” 

Resolute and domineering as her stage persona is, Ren has always been aware that she wasn’t as strong-willed as she posed herself to be. Like many people, she, too, tends to crumble when faced with conflict. It baffles him _why_ she still keeps up with such a ruse – and in front of him, of all people. But perhaps there’s a good reason behind her actions. 

Maybe it has to do with the pressures of being crowned the Nation’s Daughter-in-Law. It's a heavy title to carry, for sure. Or, it could also be her, simply setting an example for her members. That, as the leader, it’s her responsibility to protect them. To put them first before herself. 

The realization hits Ren’s chest in a desperate pang, even more so when Makoto angles her body forward to keep her tears to herself. 

Seeing her so deeply agonized eventually compels him to do the unexpected. An unconscious action that surprises even him - but at that moment, nothing else seemed more appropriate than employing a tactic he's learned from late nights binging different J-Dramas to bring her comfort. 

He extends his hand forward first, letting it plop gently against her scalp before running his fingers through her hair in languid strokes, ruffling through the damp dark-brown locks messily. It startles her briefly, prompting her to lift her head as he continues his ministrations. 

Watery, misty-eyed crimson gazes straight into liquid obsidian, radiating nothing but kindness, and in an instant, whatever fears and panic that had welled up inside her previously soon quell into nothingness. 

“Makoto, we’re in this together,” Ren reassures, his tone coloured with bright confidence. “So, trust me. We’ll be _okay_. You may be my work colleague, but you're also a friend and a confidant, first and foremost. I'll make sure that we get through this and we'll pull it off so well that the public will be damned envious over the _pseudo_ -relationship that we're in." Her lips quirk slightly – a small sign of hope – but it still wasn’t enough to perk her up. So, he adds as a casual afterthought, “Although, in the meantime, let’s get you a new headband, yeah? It’s looking pretty damaged from all the wear and tear. Heck, I’ll offer to buy it for you too.” 

“What?" Taken aback, Makoto waves his suggestion away, but she's smiling widely as she says this. "Ren, you don’t need to do that – “ 

He smirks in return, tapping two fingers against her forehead. “Well, I kind of do since you _are_ my new study partner and all. These are obligatory boyfriend duties. Well? What do you say, _sweetheart_? Should we do some shopping together so I can learn what you like and dislike wearing behind closed doors?” 

His question is responded with a sharp-hitting smack against his forearm that resounds throughout the pristine space as she squeals in mortification, “Ren, **_please_**! Does everything you say have to sound so twisted?!” 

It’s no use sugar-coating it. The circumstances of this arrangement were less than ideal for both of them. However, with Ren being his half-full optimistic self, he still manages to take solace in one thing. 

Of all the people that they could've potentially paired him up with, he's more than thankful that it ended up being _Makoto_.

He wouldn’t have agreed to this otherwise.

(But obviously, she didn't need to know that. It's his little secret for now.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very unfortunate, but it IS true. In both the J-Pop and K-Pop worlds, oftentimes, it's the girl that receives the brunt of the heat and is burned at the stake for dating while her partner is spared from the wrath. It's unfair, for sure, and while news of relationships seems to be more prevalent in the idol world more than it was 10 years ago, it's still not quite normalized. It comes with the fan culture as well. It's a very disturbing phenomenon where fans claim some form of "ownership" to these idols whenever they make promises that they'll never date. Which, obviously, is not true. They're human. And in an industry where they're faced with attractive people every single day, sparks are going to fly whether the fans like it or not.
> 
> I high-key wish for more dating news in the future from my idols. Not because of whatever juicy gossip it provides, but because I hope that it makes people wake up and realize that they can learn to love and appreciate their idols from afar, and understand that they're just like regular people that will fall in love, marry and have kids. 
> 
> [As quoted from Shinhwa's Dongwan, "Idols are not responsible for your lives."](https://crabbielife.wordpress.com/2013/10/01/shinhwa-isnt-responsible-for-your-lives-isnt-for-sasaeng/)
> 
> Also, some jargon for you guys!
> 
> Yui Aragaki: A very famous J-Drama/movie actress. She is. So beautiful. LOL.  
> All-Kill: As defined, what happens when an individual song manages to sweep the music charts simultaneously with a first place ranking  
> Excelsior: One of Japan's coffeeshop chains - very similar to the likes of Starbucks etc. (Also, yes, I can attest: They are delicious.)  
> Oricon: From Wikipedia, the holding company that supplies statistics and information on music and the music industry in Japan. I would call it similar to America's Billboard.
> 
> Also, you might be curious, but do idols actually do volunteer work? Yes, indeed, they do! Many of them tend to do it secretly. Take, for example, one of my favourite girl group members: [SNSD's Yoona](https://twitter.com/jasminelep/status/961227533428518914). Not only does she have a pretty face and is deemed Korea's ideal type (Like, maybe 10 - 11 years ago? LOL), she also regularly gives back to the community. I'd say the idol!Ren in this story would be the male Yoona. And we know how P5!Ren is: Always being too selfless and giving to his Confidants, offering to help them out whenever they needed it. A perfect fit, don't you think?
> 
> As always, thank-you so much for reading and hopefully, I'll see you guys again soon!


	3. Makoto.

Whenever Makoto encounters a problem – be it a complex logarithmic equation from high school or an agonizingly high adlib that she couldn’t quite master – she's not the audacious type that’s capable of vocalizing them in heated rants.

Rather, her sole coping mechanism is to mull over the nagging frustrations in silent isolation for hours on end, diving deep into an activity that would temporarily paint a mental block over the source of her irritations. It’s not the healthiest way to handle a situation, but hell, it was by far the most effective. Trapping herself in a tiny square space with a single microphone and instrumentals of their title tracks worked wonders in relieving her of her stress.

Now, it’s not that Makoto deliberately _wants_ her members to worry their heads over her (There was nothing to grow concerned about), and neither is it a case where she doesn’t trust them – Haru especially, the sweet girl never fails to check in on the eldest with hourly text messages – when they wholeheartedly advise her that they’re there for her to confide in them.

Still, it has to be said. As the dearly beloved (And now equally detested) representatives of Red Queen, the other three already spread themselves rather thin. There’s enough negativity – daily insults, unwanted commentary on their figures, comments nitpicking at their unchangeable flaws – to deal with as is.

That's why Makoto doesn’t think it’s fair for her, the leader, to offload any additional burdens onto them. To add, these are _her_ issues. _Her_ problems. Ultimately, it’s _her_ responsibility to eventually figure out a solution.

On most occasions, many of her dilemmas actually have straightforward resolutions. If she couldn’t angle her body correctly for that one dance move, she’ll practice it, again and again, until her body drops dead. If she was being criticized for lack of synchronization during Bad Boy, she’ll review the clip, reflect on what needs work, seek clarification from Ann and practice. Easy.

Yet sometimes, it doesn’t feel as if her efforts are enough.

Or, maybe it’s not to say that it’s not _enough_. At least, not this time around.

It’s just that _this_ – this whole nonsense of being coerced into doing something against her will – is spiraling completely out of her control. It's an unsolvable catch-22 that she can’t find any loophole to exploit, where she’s damned if she does, damned if she doesn’t.

It takes a while for the news to finally process in her brain, but once it does – with her back drenched in perspiration and the stale air tinged with salt from her hard work – the initial helplessness teeming through her veins amplifies ten-fold, running more rampant than ever through her being as she slumped over an empty bench. Memories of the past twelve hours replay in a painful flash through her mind.

Pathetic. She is _so damn pathetic_. She’s supposed to serve as the guiding beacon for the other three, but there’s nothing in her dejected posture that showcased initiative or authority. Instead, Makoto found herself at wits’ end, completely unsure of how to handle the unexpected challenges barreling towards her. Even worse was recalling Ann’s tear-streaked face, staring right back at her during that tense-filled meeting with a whispered plea for help escaping her lips – how awful was it that Makoto couldn’t do anything to remedy, leaving the blonde completely powerless and incapacitated in all regard?

It’s one of the few rare moments during her five-year career that had left her scared, because despite carrying that prestigious national title under her belt, the fact that she’s _still_ nothing but a means to an end hits her in a blaring shock. It – terrifies her, if she’s willing to be honest with herself for once, and fearful of the unknown territory that she’s preparing to traipse in as Ren Amamiya’s girlfriend.

She doesn't know how many times she sighed, but all she knew was that telling herself false words of reassurance only made her increasingly miserable. Never has she ever felt more alone than this one moment –

“Hey.”

Although, Ren's intrusion couldn’t have come at a more opportune time.

It’s not clear to say why, of all people that she could’ve chosen to spill her feelings to, it just so happened to be Ren. Logically, it’s most likely just a case of perfect timing, with him storming into the musty practice room just when she least expected it.

But a part of her thinks otherwise. Rather, it may very well be him. Him, with his eyes that never showed judgment as she rambled endlessly over potential repercussions. Him, with his hands that sunk deep into the twisted strands of hair to offer her comfort, even without her having to directly request for it. Him, in his surprisingly gentile manner in which he spoke and kindly listened to her garbled words without fail.

Whatever the case may be, she’s thankful for it – and for him. Because as she looked into his eyes, with his eventually creasing into slits with a breathtaking smile to accompany his quiet, muted voice, it gives Makoto just the right amount of support to pull herself out of wallowing self-pity.

And eventually, with him reverting to his carefree, lighthearted self with his crass jokes – and her, reprimanding him as routine generally follows – it also provides her with the necessary bits and pieces of courage to believe in him.

That, against all odds, they’ll make it out alright in the end.

“I’m heading back now,” Ren says suddenly, straightening his back after a few moments of subdued silence. Sparing one last glance at her, he adds with a dimpled half-smile, “Let me know if you need anything, okay? You have my number if you need it.”

“Ren, thank – “

“No,” he tuts sternly, waggling his finger in front of her. “I’m not accepting a thank you – “

He sets his hand down, revealing a transfixing grin that nearly stops her heart. “You can tell me that when we're in the clear, study partner."

Makoto's face unconsciously flushes upon hearing him refer to her with that new pet name, but Ren doesn't seem to take notice, continuing nonchalantly, "I take payment in cup _ramen_. And maybe a chance to borrow your voice for a B-side single.”

There’s barely enough time to react, because by the time she’s recovered from her slight bout of unrefinement, he quickly bids her farewell with a casual wave and makes a daring escape, leaping over the table agilely (Was that display **_really_** necessary?), and bolts out the door in no time at all. It closes behind his retreating form, and she stares, mouth gaping, as he saunters down the hallway, seemingly oblivious to the roaring stampede of footsteps and hushed, excited whispers chasing after the betrothed idol.

Makoto, on the other hand, barely registers any of it; instead, she steals a peek at the silver band, wrapped loosely around her middle finger.

She’s not one to openly confess embarrassing secrets, but even she had to admit: Seeing Ren behaving _this_ undeniably sweet and compassionate during her time of duress was a very refreshing, welcome change.

She wouldn’t be opposed to seeing that side of his pop up more often.

* * *

Makoto’s fleeting happiness was short-lived, however, because the moment she stepped out of the practice room promptly at eight o’clock to return to the dormitory, she immediately crossed paths with a haggard, panting Kawakami.

“There you are! I was looking all over the building for you!” She proclaimed loudly as if she had gone through the highest levels of heaven and hell to find her. Appearance-wise, Kawakami definitely fit the bill, especially with her curly hair looking ten-fold unrulier than usual and her face slick with a shiny sheen of sweat. The older woman wasn’t exactly the person that Makoto wished to greet, especially taking into consideration the events that had transpired earlier during the day, but she still tipped her head solemnly to acknowledge her.

Stiffly so, but still civil enough so that it wouldn’t arouse suspicion that she was displeased.

Just the day in the life as the esteemed Nation’s Daughter-in-Law – and SHUJIN & Associates’ subservient puppet, but she digresses.

“Is that right?”

In Makoto’s ideal world, Kawakami _should_ be telling her good news. Something along the lines of _‘A mysterious fog descended upon the global population, afflicting them with amnesia; nobody has any recollection of any critical events that happened within the past twenty-four hours’_ would be very much appreciated.

(But Makoto knows how damn absurd she sounds.

So, okay. Maybe not.)

 ** _But_** there is a possibility – slim as it may be – that Kawakami _could_ be itching to tell her, _‘The news article was rescinded just now with a detailed, lengthy explanation that it was all just one gigantic prank. Yuuki Mishima is officially dismissed from his post. You and Ren can finally return to being your normal selves, and Ann and Ryuji are still allowed to date – so long as they remember to keep their activities under wraps.’_

Unfortunately, the world, more often than not, never works in her favour. It’s just the saddening, bitter truth about reality: Always striving to augment terrible situations towards a continuous downward spiral to the point of no return.

As they say, ‘when it rains, it pours’. Only, Makoto doesn’t find that to be true.

Instead, it should be revised to ‘when it rains, it ends up being a _damn typhoon_ ’.

As if forcibly coupling their two most well-behaved idols wasn’t awful enough, Trickster Game and Red Queen’s comeback plans, initially left up in the air in fear of the potential adverse reactions from their blossoming pseudo-romance, were now proceeding as scheduled.

A shocking turn of events, to say the least.

When questioned why, Kawakami responded tactfully with verifiable statistics and data that Makoto couldn’t argue against.

Preliminary feedback showed an overwhelming amount of support for both groups, she explained, misrecognizing Makoto's look of utter repulsion for understanding. But it wasn’t _that_ that made the chief executive officer, Kobayakawa, change his mind (Of _course_ it wasn’t). Rather, it was the number of album pre-orders, suddenly skyrocketing to an all-time record high.

As Kawakami had paraphrased from that selfish glutton, he stated that it would be foolish to delay their album releases over a matter as trivial as _dating_. How would he be able to look at their expectant fanbases in the eye if he were to disappoint them?

(He said that _now,_ and yet was completely opposed to the idea of Ryuji and Ann, the pair who were actually head over heels for one another?

Sure. Whatever.)

In any case, Makoto knew that it was nothing but a white lie. Kobayakawa was a legitimate human dustbin for money. What he _did_ see were the dollars rolling in, and whenever finances were involved, there was no doubt that he wouldn’t grasp at the opportunity to capitalize on making the biggest profits.

Subsequently, this meant remaining his typical, apathetic self by disregarding the emotional state of his artists.

“It won’t be that much of a change from what you usually do, Mako- _chan_ ,” Kawakami stated, dismissing Makoto’s dumbfounded grimace for God knows what else.

Theoretically speaking, Kawakami _is_ correct. This wouldn’t be _that_ great of a deal. Throughout the five years that she’s been active, Makoto’s gotten accustomed to the routine that comprised comeback showcases and weekly music show performances. It starts backstage, with hair, make-up, outfit coordination, and the works. Then, they’re seated on uncomfortably rigid chairs, with sunny smiles plastered on their face like mannequins as they sat through a brief interview with the jolly presenter before being ushered onto the stage to perform.

Easy enough.

Except, not really – because as she watched Makoto carefully digest the information, she added quickly (Probably as a means to keep the young girls’ wrath to a bare minimum), “Your groups will be promoting together for this period, so be prepared to answer whatever questions the show presenters decide to ask you about your new relationship.”

Media training was mentioned casually somewhere during the older woman’s spiel, but it’s not like _that_ would ever help much. Their media relations staff weren't the most productive – nor the best at imparting wisdom to the people who direly needed it. 

And eventually, Kawakami concluded with a single encouraging pat on the flabbergasted Makoto’s shoulder, “In any case, you two are smart, intelligent and socially skilled people. I’m sure you and Ren- _kun_ can figure something out to make this work and ensure that your answers corroborate, right?”

It’s just as she figured. There’s no preparation. All improvisation.

A disaster waiting to happen.

_Okay. Deep breath, Makoto. Deep breaths._

First things first, they need to figure out a solution to this. Stat.

(That, or a potential aneurysm/concussion that could hospitalize her for an unknown period of time. 

Whichever comes first. Either is approved.)

* * *

To formulate a game plan, there is a procedure that must be followed accordingly.

The first step – AKA, the most important of all – is to never show signs of panic. As Sae often advises, panic implicates fear, which is essentially synonymous with throwing in the red flag and giving up before putting up a fight.

The problem is, while Sae wields the uncanny ability to mask her nerves through savage displays and flinty glares in the courtroom, Makoto has never been too good at repressing feelings of trepidation, especially when issues directly included her involvement. 

She steps into the lit parlour just a little bit after nine o’clock, only to be greeted by a guilt-ridden Ann, holding an open package of _warabi mochi_ with both hands. The blonde’s shoulders are heaving as she angles her body forward into a dramatic ninety-degree bow.

“I am **_so_** sorry, Makoto!”

While the older girl had full intentions in expressing her gratitude, something else slips off her tongue instead.

“Ann, forget the _mochi_.” The said girl palms her forehead, rubbing her aching temples. She needs to lather her face with the anti-aging solution tonight. “We’ve got bigger concerns on our plate at the moment.”

(So much for step one. Ann dropped the whole container of _mochi_ onto the floor, and an eavesdropping Futaba literally cracked her PS4 controller. 

_Good going, Makoto._ )

Moving on. The second step, after letting the fright subside, is to buckle down and think things through logically. Now _this_ , Makoto excels in rather well. It’s why she’s Red Queen’s leader, after all. However, for situations that impacted their future success (Or failures, whichever happens first), teamwork and moral support are often required.

“We don’t need to depend on the company, Mako- _chan_. Knowing you, I’m sure you can do it! We’ll woo them all with our eloquence and your sublime skills of deflection!” Leave it to Haru, their designated motivational speaker, to say encouraging words. She drums her elegant piano hands against the kitchen table softly, adding, “We just need to think of all the possible inquiries – “

“And brainstorm all the answers that are SFW!” Futaba chimes in. “I can compile a list for you, no prob!”

“That’s all very kind of you, and I appreciate your efforts, but before that can even happen – “ Makoto argues, curling her hand underneath her chin. “Ren needs to know.” 

“Wait, what?” Ann wrinkles her nose, perplexing confusion written across her face. “Wouldn’t Kawakami- _san_ have informed him of this by now? I wouldn’t think of her as an irresponsible manager – ”

“Not that.” Haru shakes her head. Dropping her voice to a quiet whisper, she says quietly, “The _other_ thing.”

Ann nods, albeit still somewhat puzzled. “Oh.”

And then, the realization hits her like a sharp slap to the face as she exclaims loudly, “OH. **_THAT_**.”

In which, it inevitably leads to the third step: The execution. And frankly, the one thing that’s holding her back.

To put it bluntly, Makoto doesn’t know _how_ to start the conversation. It’s not like she can just call his number and confess the humiliating truth that she lacks practical knowledge in the relationship department and knows nothing about being a girlfriend now, can she?

(Yes, that’s right.

Albeit the fact that Makoto may have been voted the number one most desirable partner for every Japanese housewives’ single son, ironically enough, she’s never had a boyfriend. Never kissed. Never went on a date.

None. Zero. Zilch. Zippo. Nothing.) 

Granted, Makoto _did_ share a mildly believable on-screen romance with some handsome rookie actor in her first Japanese melodrama some years back. She played a minor role, serving the supportive second lead, sharing a playful _'Will-they-won't-they'_ dynamic with the poor boy. It was fortunate that there weren’t too many steamy moments - only some heartwarming embraces here and there (Underneath a dazzling, fake-ass rainstorm), and a slobbery ~~first~~ kiss that left her lips dying, but still, you _would_ think that the experience would've taught her a thing or two. 

Well, it didn’t.

Firstly, that was ages ago, taking place at the fleeting age of twenty-one. Plenty else has happened since then, and that drama was just one cringe-worthy project out of the many that Makoto's managed to block out from her executive awareness. That, and look, she actually _had_ an instructive script that she could follow at the time. Cues and all included. All she had to do was read the text, memorize it and robotically act it out. Following orders is something that she can execute perfectly.

This time though, she doesn’t exactly have that privilege now, because while it was perfectly fine to let her first (And last) acting project tank spectacularly with abysmally depressing ratings, it's definitely **_not_** okay to do a mediocre job. Considering that her career - and by extension, **_his_** \- were on the line if they didn't play out their roles convincingly well - Makoto shudders. She doesn't want to think of the potential aftermath if their secret was discovered. 

That aside, how would _Ren_ react upon hearing her confession? Just imagining what his potential reaction could be - a chuckle, maybe, or an amused snort so powerful that made him shoot water out of his nose - is enough to make her stomach perform nauseating flip-flops. 

Forthright and direct as she usually is, Ann suggests coming clean. Just to get it over with.

“There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of, Makoto. You go at your own pace with relationships, and not having a boyfriend in the past doesn't make you any less of a person. Plus, seeing how Ren treated you so nicely, why are you scared?!”

Haru, however, argues otherwise. Bless her soul for taking Makoto's side.

“But you know that it's not Mako- _chan_ 's style to speak so candidly!" 

Haru – who isn’t as brazen as the fiery, sassy blonde – tentatively proposes approaching this in a roundabout way. Beating around the bush, as she calls it. “Maybe you can start off with a question, like, ‘Do you mind sharing some of your stories?’”

“But that just drags out the conversation, Haru,” Ann points out. “And small talk like that makes things unnecessarily difficult!”

In the end, Haru and Ann decide to let Makoto figure out a solution on her own. The problem is, Makoto’s not even close to thinking of one. She's contemplated the idea of getting some shut-eye with hopes that inspiration will somehow slink in during her restless slumber, but she can't. Call it her hyperactive neurons at work, but once something’s on her mind, she can never leave it to sit for the next day.

It’s nearly two in the morning, and she’s **_still_** lounging around on the couch in the living room of Red Queen’s dormitory, wide awake with her mind on red-alert. She clutches her mobile tightly, going through the motions of locking and unlocking the home screen.

To her left, Futaba’s browsing for something on her laptop. At least, that’s what Makoto _thinks_ she’s doing. Out of the corner of her eye, she can sense the younger girl sending her - or was it her phone? - an inscrutable gaze. Large eyes and ghostly appearance aside, there's something about her lack of movement that makes the experience more than just unsettling.

It near borders on creepy. Eerie, too, as if Futaba was this heavy apparition, resting on Makoto's shoulder and scrutinizing all of her life choices. She can't think like this - maybe she'll have a better time brainstorming her words if she wasn't there.

So, Makoto clears her throat stiffly. “You should get to bed, Futaba.”

"Nope." Loose strands of Futaba's auburn-dyed hair flies into her eyes as she shakes her head, unperturbed. "I do this _all_ the time."

_Clearly._

Well, two can play at that game. Makoto turns her head, slightly peeved. “Okay. Well, is there something you need?"

"Yep."

 _Oh._ Makoto blinks. _Well, **that** was simpler than anticipated - _

"Your phone," Futaba deadpans, craning her neck away from the light-blue glow emanating from her laptop screen. Good _God_. Staring straight at Makoto was the most demonic, devilish expression that she has ever seen in all twenty-four years of existence - and that's **_really_** saying something, considering that she watched (And subsequently, became scarred for eternity) Ju-On when she turned five. "Ren's number. Pronto."

"W-why?!"

All of a sudden, Futaba shoves her computer aside, letting it fall off her lap completely as she crosses her arms against her chest. "Ugh, I can’t go to sleep without watching you resolve this! It’s so unfathomably **_frustrating_**!"

Makoto stares, astonished at her sudden outburst. Has she _ever_ behaved like this in all five years of knowing her? “Futaba, why – ?”

“And if all you're going to do is dilly-dally, then I'll save you the pain and tell him **_for_** you!" Palm outstretched, she demands hotly, "Gimme your phone! **_I'll_** do it! And I'll do a great job of it too!"

“N-Now, let's not be hasty!" Makoto warns, tightening her grip around her phone. "W-we need to think this through! We need - “

But it's too late.

"What you need is _**me**_!"

Futaba's hand shoots straight towards her at breakneck speed, forcing Makoto to reflexively raise her arms up in a defensive guise, squealing (Embarrassingly unrefined) as a repetitive mantra of _'Please don't hit my face'_ reverberated in the back of her brain, and then - 

"Aha!" A triumphant scream rings throughout the air, and the lithe girl hops ungracefully off the couch, nearly tripping over the coffee table as her fingers made light work on the keypad. Slow on the uptake, Makoto doesn't realize that her hands are empty and phone-less until the droning dial tone rings through the air, with Futaba singing jubilantly in the background as if she were pledging her undying loyalty towards Japan with its national anthem, "Don't you worry, Makoto! Everything's going to **_a_** -okay! I've got you covered!"

"NO!" Makoto's clumsy feet drag numbly behind her as she tumbles over the folded duvet, plummeting to the dusty, carpeted floor in near defeat. " _ **F** **UTABA**_!" 

Amidst the backdrop of noise that was certainly guaranteed a formal complaint from their landlord the next morning, a crackling, tired "Makoto? W-what's going on?" resounds.

It's like watching a horror movie scene unfurl in slow motion. One moment, Futaba's opening her mouth wide, drawing in air for whatever statement she has prepared to say -

And the very next:

" _ **REN! MAKOTO'S NEVER HAD A BOYFRIEND BEFORE! AND SHE NEEDS YOUR HELP ON HOW TO BE THE PERFECT GIRLFRIEND!**_"

Well now.

There goes whatever remains of her dignity. 

(Not that Makoto had much to begin with, anyway.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If at first you don't succeed, always rely on Futaba Sakura to get the job done." LOL. 
> 
> Also, there's no other song that fits Makoto better than this:
> 
> [Red Velvet - Dumb Dumb](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BPmjJQQKKko)
> 
> I regret nothing. LOL. Thanks for sticking by this story and for all the kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions thus far! I promise you that it won't be as slow come Chapter 4 - AKA, involving shenanigans with Ren, AKA, what I love writing about best ;D AKA, lots of teasing, lessons and second-hand embarrassment for Makoto. 
> 
> See you guys soon!


	4. Ren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi P5 friends! 
> 
> I know. It's been a while, and my sincerest apologies for the overdue update. Life has gotten quite busy - I'm preparing to go back to school in September, work obligations got in the way and I fell out of the fandom for a bit. Ultimately though, I made a promise to myself that I won't be leaving this story unfinished and that if things go smoothly, I can have it completed before returning to my studies LOL. #PERPETUALSTUDENTLYFE. Hopefully, the next update won't be too late! 
> 
> In the meantime, please enjoy this ~6k chapter!

Ren didn’t take Makoto's statement all too seriously at first. 

Why? Well, for many reasons: partially because his mind wasn’t in the right place to be processing jumbled words and horrifying shrieks worthy of a Japanese Academy Award at two-thirty in the morning; partially because well, it’s _Futaba_ , for Christ’s sake – a self-proclaimed pest and troublesome prankster who had too much free time and many strange hobbies on the side (one of which was to get underneath her lady-like leader’s skin) – 

And mostly because, Ren didn’t _want_ to take her statement all too seriously. 

It just doesn’t make sense, and even after confining himself in the dormitory washroom for a good half hour with a contemplating finger curled underneath his chin, he _still_ couldn’t put two and two together. How could someone of the esteemed Makoto Niijima’s caliber never share a romantic relationship with _anybody_? 

(“Excuse me for intruding your deep ponder, Ren," Yusuke near-screams. "But – **_I DESPERATELY REQUIRE THE RESTROOM!_** ”) 

Makoto’s a conventionally attractive woman, and with the number of times that Ren’s watched her get aggressively cornered backstage by daring, starry-eyed rookies and overconfident, pompous seniors alike, badgering her for her phone number and potential dates that she politely declines – well, that should say more than enough about her appeal to both the public eye and to artists behind the scenes. 

Besides, if somebody like the crass, loud-mouthed _Ryuji_ could share a brief middle school rendezvous, and subsequently land one of the most popular idols in the country as his girlfriend – 

(“Hey asshole!” Ryuji attempts to fling one of his used gym socks at Ren’s face, only to miss pitifully. "What the fuck is **_that_** supposed to mean?!) 

Then, so could Makoto. _Easily_. 

But then – 

In Makoto’s case, Ren’s reservations start to arise as he thought more carefully of past occurrences: Of numerous music awards shows that he’s grown tired of attending (sans the special performances with the flashy theatrics, because those always pleasantly surprised him); of variety show appearances that he’s also featured on; of extensive interviews given - 

And to put it bluntly, there were just too many times where he saw her behavior as odd. 

And no, not just ‘regular odd’. Weirdly odd. Like ‘ _holy-shit-does-this-girl-even-know-how-to-behave-around-strange-men?_ ’ odd. 

Take, for example, that one award show three years ago. It had been their perpetually single senior labelmate who presented the award for Album of the Year to Red Queen. He recalls Makoto stepping forward on stage to accept the shining plaque, but when the older man had opened his arms wide for a congratulatory hug, she clenched her hand tight in preparations for a _fist bump_ instead. The audience buzzed in amusement as she squeaked an embarrassing apology into the microphone. Ren, himself, laughed it off, finding the exchange somewhat cute, and shelved it into his mental library. 

(You know, for just memories’ sake - it's not every day that the older woman loses her composure so easily like that. And on camera, too.) 

_Then_ , there was this other incident two years back where Makoto and this heavily promoted idol were partnered up to release a romantic, jazz-like ballad that spoke of a playful push-pull relationship between the two parties. Undoubtedly, it performed well on the charts – that wasn’t surprising, since _anything_ that has Makoto’s name attached to it tends to excel, regardless. The problem didn’t surface until Ren was forced to watch it live. And he uses forced, because good **_God_** , was it a painful, agonizing experience. Yusuke sprinted for the washroom a minute in, returning just as the song ended, claiming that the on-stage gestures were too much for his fragile stomach to bear. 

Ren, on the other hand, stayed behind and watched, feeling pieces of his soul fall apart as the poor boy attempted to hold her hand. Five times. He tried five times – and all attempts were foiled, either because Makoto didn’t see him deliberately waving it in her face, or she truly was immersed in the song, playing along with the coy lyrics that the ‘pull’ counterpart was singing of. 

Whatever the case, Ren will give kudos to the flustered boy for trying. 

And _then_ there was that other time, where Red Queen and Trickster Game were in the running for the number one Song of the Week on some music show. That god-awful emcee straight-up _flirted_ with her on public broadcast with an unfunny pun involving their comeback title just before their final performances for the day. It took an incredible amount of willpower to keep himself from flinching on camera. 

“So, your title track is Bad Boy, right? Mako- _chan_ , I’ll have you know that if you’re ever looking for one – “ The host paused, sucked in a deep breath to puff out his chest proudly akin to an overgrown, balding man-child hybrid hoping for a prize in the form of a gold star (or in his case, Makoto's hand). “You've got one, standing right here. Because I’m bad. At _everything_.” 

Lame and completely unfunny as it was, his pick-up line flew over poor Makoto’s head. And she had responded in the most Makoto- _esque_ way possible. 

“Oh, is that right? Well, if you’re seeking methods of self-improvement, I can recommend you ‘The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People’.” 

Thank the heavens that Ann successfully steered the conversation away from self-help books and back to their album, because that was one can of worms nobody wanted open - especially on camera. 

Granted, Makoto did admit in the past that her vigorous training regimen and subsequent duties as an idol takes up a greater priority than having a fulfilling love life. Taking that into consideration, it _does_ align with some of her more dubious actions. 

But surely, she’s had to have dabbled into the world of prepubescent romance before joining SHUJIN&Associates? She's had to have experience with a high school love, perhaps? First loves were commonplace, especially in the complicated, dramatic world of high school. Adding on, how else could she have sung all those cheesy love songs that cycled through the same old topics of heart flutters, forehead kisses, and woes of ' _I-think-I'm-in-love-but-I-don't-know-what-to-do_ ' oh-so-passionately if she didn’t have the experience to back it up? 

Okay, and in the case that she (miraculously) didn’t have a first love, then surely, a _crush_? Crushes didn’t require that much emotional capacity. They’re easy to develop and just as easy to get over. Everybody’s had to have a taste of those jittery butterflies and fleeting magnetic sparks that _shoujo_ _manga_ often spoke about. 

So, Ren concludes, after a whole lot of distracted thinking and very little focus put into rehearsals (“Our leader should not be having his head in the clouds...”), maybe he’s just reading too much into the situation. Makoto could just be out of practice because going on for five years without any form of actual stimulation that she reciprocated probably just dulled her senses to any form of flirtation or flattery. It could’ve just ended up being word vomit to her. 

Besides, Ren’s the type of person that likes to give people the benefit of the doubt. And having endured most of his prepubescent life scrutinized for his questionable life choices, the _least_ he can do is offer the same to others.

* * *

Except, he didn’t have to. 

“Hey, I’m here. What did you need, Makoto?” 

Because the moment he had stepped into Red Queen’s practice room as Makoto had requested after regular training hours, the unamused line she has set on her stony face is merely confirmation that yes, it’s _pitifully_ , **_rightfully_** true. 

It _wasn’t_ a joke. 

And needless to say, Ren is in for a long night. 

* * *

Thunderstruck, Ren states dumbly, “Um, I'm not sure how to take this.” 

“W-well.” Makoto swallows, regaining her composure as she tries to explain her point of view as diplomatically as she can. “L-let me explain, okay?”   
  
She starts first with a bold statement of how it’s perfectly normal that she’s never had a boyfriend. Not that there’s anything remotely wrong with being single in the first place, but why is she becoming so defensive with each passing second? Firstly, it’s _him_. And sure, he is slightly taken aback, but it's not like he’s that great of a model adult himself. And secondly, there are always other things in life worth critiquing – like Ryuji’s adlibs and Yusuke’s exorbitant and theatrical posing during editorial photoshoots. 

This certainly wasn’t one of them. 

“Rest assured, Makoto, I won’t make any snide comments about this,” Ren interjects. “You don’t have to put up a guise.” 

She shoots him a pointed glance. “You _look_ near ready to scrutinize me for this.” 

“Oh, uh, is that right?” Ren unconsciously combs through hair, leaving it a tousled, unflattering mess. How awkward; he’s managed to make her uncomfortable even without intentionally doing it. What a great start in learning how to play Makoto Niijima’s fake-boyfriend. Clearing his throat, he gestures for her to continue, making a mental note that he needs to be warier of his facial expressions whenever she's speaking. The more he figures out now, the more believable their façade will be. “Sorry about that. Rest assured, it's not on purpose.” 

“No, it’s fine. I’m aware that it might come as a surprise – perhaps even as a giant shock.” Her shoulders fall, deflated. “It’s just that – Sis always told me to set a certain bar when it came to finding that special someone because there were so many better prospects out in the world.” 

_Better prospects probably didn’t include me on that list,_ Ren thinks smugly. “Okay, but,” he begins slowly, clicking his tongue against his teeth. Oh, for God's sake - he can never resist the temptation. “How high is this bar of yours? Did she teach you to set it fifty-thousand feet above the Earth’s ozone layer?” 

“ _Ren_!” Appalled, she scolds, “You said you weren’t going to be judgmental!” 

“I said I wasn’t going to be judgmental, yes, but that doesn’t imply that making light of the situation isn’t acceptable,” Ren smirks. “Just one of the many cons of having Ren Amamiya as your pseudo-boyfriend.” 

Pressing her hands against her reddening cheeks, she grumbles, “You must think that I’m a failure.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t go to such lengths and call you that. She did it out of love.” 

Makoto nods. “Yes, especially in the line of work that we’re in. She always told me that I shouldn’t just go for any random individual that throw themselves at me, no matter how easy on the eyes they may be. This was especially true during my training period and just right after Red Queen’s debut. The potential that I would meet someone who would capitalize on my naivety, or even worse, physically hurt me – it was too immense.” 

And in retrospect, Ren _does_ think Sae’s advice is well-intentioned. He doesn’t know much about her, aside from her prestigious position as a high-ranking prosecutor in the world of law and order and the very fact that she would scream bloody murder if he was found within her doting younger sister's proximity (ironically enough). However, word on the street was the older woman had to fight her way viciously, refusing all bribes of fast promotions to rise through the ranks fairly. No doubt she must’ve encountered many colleagues who saw her as someone easily tantalized by alluring promises, someone who would be easily taken advantage of. 

Applying this piece of advice to the music industry was no different. He’s heard horrifying anecdotes: of esteemed producers, wealthy investors, higher-ups and even senior artists that targeted trainees from less than stellar entertainment companies, on a constant prowl for young blood, coaxing starry-eyed idols-to-be with promises of a guaranteed, successful debut and opportunities galore in exchange for vile favours. Disgusting, insatiable tyrants lurked in every corner and crevice – and many times, they got away with their heinous actions. No wonder Sae grew sick with worry. 

However, Makoto was an intelligent woman. She knew better and adding in Kawakami’s motherly nature in ensuring that the artists underneath her management were always well-protected (for most of the time, anyway), it’s just a relief that none of them ever had to experience such a traumatizing experience. 

Still, Makoto’s prudence would’ve inevitably caught up to her one day. And it has now, hitting uncomfortably close to home. 

Ren watches her claw desperately at the ends of her sweater, and she mumbles, “We only have three days left. What are we going to do?” 

Naturally, though, the quick-thinking leader will always manage to come up with a plan. 

“Well,” he begins, reaching into the pocket of his jacket for the basic idol essential. He pulls it over the lower half of his face, and with crinkled eyes, says, “We’re just going to have to cram some private lessons into you now, don’t we?"

* * *

A saying goes that the most dangerous places are often the safest – although, Makoto didn’t quite agree with that statement, showing great reluctance when Ren pushed her through the building’s fire exit and into the deserted, hidden alleyway. The February air is crisp and cool, and their breaths evaporate into the nearby space as white, smoggy vapour with each exhale. 

Makoto, however, is particularly breathy, her stance radiating extreme nervousness as they stalked through the hushed streets of the familiar shabby neighbourhood sitting just a few blocks away from the agency building. Sans an elderly gentleman taking his pet puppy for an evening stroll, a few hole-in-the-wall restaurants cooking up some late-night meals and a quiet secondhand shop manned by a dozing store attendant, it was empty. Void of pedestrians, civilians, and lurking journalists. 

Peaceful and calm as the atmosphere may be, Makoto’s on red-alert. Her eyes dart behind building walls, search suspiciously behind lamp posts, pillars, and stationary vending machines – all in fear of hearing the familiar succession of _click-click's_ and seeing the blinding flash of lights that would guarantee them a front-page cover once more. It’s astounding, to say the least; how is Ren capable of confidently strutting about in broad daylight (not quite literally, but close enough) without a single ounce of concern as if this was just a mere walk in the park? 

She grips onto the hood of his sweater with a forceful tenacity near capable of cutting off blood circulation. Jerking him to a sudden halt, she hisses quietly, “Are you **_sure_** about this?” Even with them donning their shabbiest clothing and face masks, Makoto’s entire being simply emanates petrifying fear. 

“Makoto,” he begins, attempting to pry her clingy fingers away from his sweater – but to no avail. “You wouldn’t fare so well at the airport if we were there right now.” 

“A-and why is that?” 

“Because of how hysterical you’re looking. You’ll be pulled out of customs for a ten-hour interrogation,” Ren finishes. “You need to chill a bit.” 

Makoto scoffs, lacking the demanding confidence and poise that she often shows on stage. “I **_am_** chill!” 

“Yeah? Your fingers on my clothes prove otherwise.” That seems to do the trick – she loosens her hold onto him instantly. Ren re-adjusts the collar for a brief moment before pointing to a nearly hidden side street, lit only by a flickering streetlamp. “Come on. We’re almost there.” 

“I would appreciate it if – “ Midway through panting, she wheezes behind him, “You could slow down a bit!” 

_Ah, right._ Ren often forgets how much he towers over her, making yet another notation to his growing list of ‘Random Makoto Tidbits and Factoids’. Maybe it’s because he’s so often deceived by the heels and boots that she wears on for Red Queen’s stages, but when he slows his pace and waits for her to catch up from behind, he can’t help but let an amused crooked smile quirk on his face. 

So many times in the past, she had been requested to feign nauseatingly cute acts for the camera – and every single time, he’d either recoil or blanch. It’s not that he doesn‘t think Makoto is cute. By default, she _is_. It’s just that making pitchy squeals, pufferfish faces and shooting finger hearts while screaming, “I love you!” didn’t quite _suit_ her. 

Not even quite. It doesn’t suit her at all. Period. Like watching a fish flop on dry land. Queens did not do that – Ann did, though. Haru can. And Futaba, if she tries. 

Just not Makoto. 

Yet uncannily enough, the sight of her in that oversized hoodie and scuffed sneakers, lumbering forward, makes her appear – naturally cute already. 

( _This is what we call_ _girlfriend_ _material_ , his brain whispers. 

Ren immediately quashes that thought down with a hardened swallow.) 

“By the way,” she huffs. “You didn’t even tell me why.” 

“Why what?” 

“Why **_here_** ,” she emphasizes, breathless. “Of all places?” 

“Remember, Makoto,” he explains, slowing to a stop in front of a gleaming oak wood door. “This charade isn’t just made for the public; it’s for the people that work in close contact with us, too. As lovely as our staff is, they’re all loose lips.” His eyes flash at her warily. “And let’s not forget our ultimate gossipmonger: Takao- _san_.” 

“Well, it’s not like I can _fire_ her now, can I?” She asks as if it were the most ludicrous solution. “She’s been with me for four years, Ren, and despite occasional mistakes, I wouldn’t trust another person with a make-up brush on my face – “ 

“And you know what else she’s done?” Ren lifts the limp split ends of her dying hair, listening to the dry strands crackle sharply like dried hay under his fingertips. “She’s completely killed off all the natural keratin with her hair dying experiments. I'm just glad she decided to lay off the colouring for your upcoming comeback this time around. Honestly, who thought navy-blue highlights was a good idea?” 

“As I was saying!” She says hotly, swatting his hand away. “What does Eiko have to do with anything?” 

“And I’ll shoot another question back at you. There are already rumours spreading about that this fling of ours is just a cover-up for something much more scandalous. If they see us behaving suspiciously when we’re together, what do _you_ think will happen?” 

Makoto closes her eyes, deep in thought, until at last, the realization hits her with a soft, tender “ _Ah_.” She nods in agreement. “I see your point.” 

“Good, you understand, too. We have to be extra careful.” 

“That still doesn’t answer my question fully. What I mean to say is, why are we coming here? To **_Leblanc_**?“ 

Ren presses a finger against his lips, prompting Makoto to stifle her curiosity with a pursed mouth. Raising a clenched hand into the air, barely centimetres away from the reflective glass, he gives the fragile surface two rapid taps in quick succession, followed by a slight pause, before finishing with a prolonged thud that reverberated into the night air in a hefty bang. 

Makoto sighs. “You _really_ shouldn’t be that forceful with Boss’ door, Ren.” 

And right on cue, a rugged, chiseled face immediately pops into their periphery. Through the tinted glass, a pair of dark, beady eyes observe the duo curiously but it doesn’t take long for a gentle click to be heard. The door pushes open, revealing an expectant grin and wrinkles in the form of laugh line crisscrossing his profile. From the looks of it, he probably overheard Makoto chiding him. 

“You heard your lady.” 

“And to answer your question, Makoto, this sleepy café is probably the last place on Earth that people would expect rising pop stars to be in,” Ren explains simply with a wry smile of his own. “What else?” 

* * *

Joyous as his parents were when Ren finally achieved his dream as an idol singer, they weren’t exactly the most supportive of people when it came to helping him achieve his goals. Even though SHUJIN&Associates had tried to convince the pair that Ren would be a guaranteed success and that investing in his training wouldn’t be a waste, his parents had left the headquarters highly unconvinced. 

Rather, they concluded that the commitment fee they were required to pay was _much_ too hefty. Too expensive to put down for a lucrative career that didn’t guarantee a ninety-percent success rate.

(“I’m telling you now, son,” his mother chastised for the umpteenth time after another five hours of fruitless negotiating. “Biomedical engineering is what will bring you happiness.”)

But knowing how passionately determined – or, frustratingly stubborn, depending on how one sees it – their son was, they ultimately settled and came to a compromise that was very well-summarized in less than twenty words.

“If you want to do this, then, you’ll need to do it yourself.”

And that, essentially, also sets up the foundation to his long-standing acquaintanceship with Sojiro Sakura – AKA, Boss: the no-nonsense, goateed owner of a shabby, rundown coffee shop in the outdated district of _Yongen-Jaya_ that served the best Americano and even better curry.

Well, at least better than CoCo Ichibanya. The franchises' spiced specialty gave him horrible stomach cramps for weeks after that promotional photoshoot.

Now, Boss wasn’t always the friendliest person out there. He was prickly (“Like a cactus, Makoto. I swear.”), icy (“Like…like a popsicle, you mean?” “Wow, you get me, you do.”) and sometimes, blunt as a knife.

Yet, the unthinkable had happened: Boss – someone who was notoriously known for shooing away young male patrons for the protection of his socially awkward and anxious adopted daughter – and Ren had naturally clicked. And it was all in thanks to that faded white sign that was screaming for a part-time barista and a two-minute interview.

It’s unclear how and _why_ it happened because Ren didn’t exactly carry the look of an upstanding individual for a high schooler – and to have someone like him manage the inventory count for his expensive, imported coffee beans was just a nightmarish ordeal that nobody wanted to deal with. Yet somehow, Boss managed to overlook the tousled hair and the seemingly rebellious glare, taking a liking to him right away. He didn't speak much initially, but that didn’t hinder him from performing his job well. The younger boy had a strong work ethic that he carried to every menial task - be it clearing out dishes, taking orders or serving curry - and a natural ability to communicate and connect with the regulars. And with time, the two had uncannily formed a friendship that went beyond supervisor and part-time employee.

Hearing about Ren's trainee ventures, Boss wholeheartedly supported the youngster in whatever way that he could - which was primarily through food and coffee on the house to help him get through his long hours, but there's not much to complain about regarding his delicious-tasting cuisine in comparison to the meals that he was served at the agency. Ren turned towards Sojiro as a confidant - an older companion who played a much better parental role versus his _actual_ father, which was saying quite a lot.

And perhaps most importantly, Ren played a pivotal role in helping his daughter break out of her timid, quiet shell – not quite in a conventional sense, but by inspiring her to audition for SHUJIN&Associates, and ultimately, helping her make her anticipated debut as the main rapper of Red Queen.

(“You have to be _joking_.”

“That’s right. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be getting any of those iconic rap verses in Red Queen’s hits. You’re _very_ welcome.”)

Of course, the rest is history. Red Queen and Trickster Game successfully climbed the stairway to success in five years; Futaba’s improved tremendously in terms of stage presence and her rapping ability – but some things just don’t change much.

Like Bosses’ coffee, for example. Not in the taste. Not in the brew.

Ren is more than thankful for some peace and quiet that came in the form of a murky, dark-roasted Americano.

The younger man raises his cup in acknowledgment, taking a sip before setting it down onto the porcelain saucer. “Hmm. Even now, your coffee is still some of the best that I’ve ever tasted. Thanks for the drink.”

Sojiro makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, but there’s a prideful smirk gracing his weathered features as he replies, “You finally appreciate the good stuff when you’re forced to guzzle down all that artificial stuff, huh?”

“Boss, please. How can you even compare caffeinated sugar with something like this? Do you need extra advertising? I’ll do it for free – “

“Mind your own business,” Sojiro interrupts, knocking his fist against Ren’s forehead. “I’m doing fine.”

Suddenly clearing her throat, Makoto bows her head forward in apology. “I’m so sorry that we had to ask you to open beyond business hours, Boss. But we appreciate the privacy.”

“Not to worry, Mako- _chan_. Just promise me that you’re taking care of Futaba on my behalf.”

“Of course,” she says with a curt nod. “It’s my duty.”

“Speaking of – “ Sojiro cuts in sharply, leaning against the back counter with his arms crossed against his chest. His eyes dart between the pair before settling on the rather large space between them. “I don’t think two people who are _supposed_ to be dating should be sitting so far away from one another, hmm?”

“Um – w-well! W-we’re still getting a-adjusted to p-people knowing!”

Now, an excuse like that would not be that much of a problem – aside from the fact that Makoto started visibly squirming in her chair the moment Sojiro locked gazes with her. If that wasn’t a telltale sign of discomfort and poor lying, well, not much else would classify as such.

Ren heaves a sigh, tapping his index finger impatiently against the hardwood surface. “Makoto, I know that you’re not exactly comfortable with this set-up, but this is just _Boss_ that you’re talking to. You know what’s going to happen if we don’t make this believable, right? And on nationwide television, no less.”

“I-I know. And I-I’m sorry, okay? It’s just – it’s just – “ She’s wracking her brain for the appropriate word, but defeatedly concludes with: “Difficult.”

“Don’t beat yourself up just yet, kiddo,” Sojiro encourages. “That’s why you’re here.” And without saying another word, he ducks behind the counter for a brief second before drawing up a large, dusty cardboard box. Makoto peers inside, only to gasp in shock upon seeing its contents.

“You really – “

“He keeps track of every. Single. Magazine that has Red Queen and Trickster Game on it,” Ren finishes with an amused laugh. “Talk about being an obsessive uncle-fan.”

“It’s called attempting to parent from afar. And besides.” Sojiro chuckles, pulling out a copy of last October's _ViVi_ with Futaba’s smile emblazoned across the cover. Dressed impeccably stylish in a baseball jacket and a snapback to match, her arms are wrapped around the newest rice cooker model from Panasonic. He couldn't look any prouder as he continues, “Can you blame me for wanting to see my pride and joy modeling and doing photoshoots for cooking appliances when she couldn’t even _look_ strangers in the eye just a few years ago?”

“Boss, take it from me if you want a get-rich-quick scheme,” Ren says with a smile. “Ask her to be your café’s spokesperson. Then, not only will your profits keep rolling in, you’ll get to see her cardboard cut-out smiling at you every single day you open.”

“And as I’ve said, you brat,” the older man scolds. “Mind your business!”

“It’s a win-win situation.” Ren pauses. “And you know it.” 

* * *

With their tired brains stimulated with caffeine, it was officially time to get to work.

Three days. Three days left.

Three days equates to seventy-two hours. That, in turn, comes to an approximate total of four-thousand, three-hundred and twenty minutes.

But no matter how much he tries to break it down, the truth is inevitable. Ren knows full-well that they’re fucked because three days is certainly not enough time to skim through five years of interviews regarding vital statistics, ideal types, first date preferences, and the like. And Ren doesn’t even want to _think_ about playing pretend on camera with an (forgive him for being brutally frank) incompetent actress who hasn’t been requested for any acting jobs ever since her abysmal rom-com project.

But hey: where there’s a will, there will be a way.

And Ren’s way, in this case, is to condense the material into one manageable chunk as any panicked university student would. Only, graduate students might be studying something that would actually make a positive contribution to mankind – _their_ topics of interest were only going to benefit them by saving their respective careers.

He plops a smaller stack of the flimsy books onto the table, and Makoto immediately stills. She sucks in a large breath as he announces, “Makoto. It’s time to bring out your scholarly qualities.”

“Okay.” Deep breath in. And out. She seems riled up and raring to go. Good. “I can do it. I _can_ do it.”

And thus, began session number one: old-school studying and memorization.

* * *

Now, some things – Ren already knew by heart. It just comes with the nature of the job.

Her birthday, for one, was glaringly obvious. During her twenty-second birthday, her personal fan-club pitched in enough money to install a gigantic light-up display of her face onto the exterior of the Shibuya 109 building. Considering the fact that even someone like Kiko Mizuhara has yet to have her face plastered onto the face of a towering skyscraper for the entirety of that bustling shopping district to see – seriously, there’s _no_ damn way anybody would forget imagery as extravagant as that.

Her height? Five-foot-five. Second tallest to Ann. Also voted as the perfect height to receive forehead kisses – but that also warrants another question of, _why_ in the fucking world would they host a poll as strange as that in the first place?

“Idol things, I guess,” Makoto replies as she flips through the January edition of Vogue. Ren remembers this particular fashion shoot quite well, and it wasn't the avant-garde street fashions and smoky-eyed make-up that left an impression on him; rather, it was the interviewer: a young college-fresh graduate who couldn't finish a sentence without stumbling over her tongue. She was practically shooting heart eyes in his direction the entire time, ignoring Yusuke and Ryuji completely. Hopefully, she wasn't too heartbroken over the news.

Makoto's right hand is hard at work, scribbling something illegible onto a thin notepad. Ren _wants_ to question whether she’ll procure flashcards when she’s back at the dormitory to test herself but ultimately decides against it. "Just like how our nation titles mean absolutely nothing." 

“You’re forgetting the hashtag, Makoto,” he corrects. “ _Hashtag_ , idol things.”

Is that a sarcastic eye-roll that he sees? Or was that just a trick of the light? Probably the latter.

“…Right.”

Next (and apparently, the most important quality in any budding relationship): her blood type.

“A.”

“Now, did you _actually_ get tested for this or did they just assign you a random vowel just because your personality suited the blood type personality test?”

Her eyes narrow into a steel-flinted glare. “…Now, what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” His lips quirk as he reads through the qualities that defined someone born with type A. _Responsible. Perfectionist. Stressed. Diligent. Wary. Reserved._ He nods. “Suits you to a tee, though.”

“I question the validity of such a preposterous theory that has no scientific or verifiable evidence to back it up.”

“Well, for the skeptics who might think we’re incompatible, rest assured: they’re wrong. We are the _most_ compatible for marriage – “

“Oh, my – ” Makoto’s face burns to a shade of cherry-red. “ ** _No_** , Ren. I’m too young to think of having a husband right now.”

Vital statistics, however, were the least of their problems. They were easy enough to remember, and even if they did flub on an answer or two during that dreaded interrogation (because being completely honest, it's not an interview when they're getting harassed with intrusive questions), it wouldn’t be a detrimental blow to their guise.

Uncomfortably personal things though – now that’s an _entirely_ different story.

“Ren.” It’s about two-thirty in the morning when Makoto's voice penetrates their silence with a muted, “I have a – question.”

“Shoot.” He’s barely paying attention at this point, and goodness knows he needs another coffee to get through the early hours without fainting from fatigue. “We’ve got another two hours before Kawakami goes berserk and bombards us with texts on where we are.”

“Does your ideal type change as quickly as the seasons?”

_...What?_

That actually woke him up better than caffeine. Still, it takes him a while for his sluggish brain to process her question. Blinking twice, he stammers, “U-uh, ex ** _cuse_** me?”

“Just a few months ago, you said you liked ‘ _girls with short hair_ ’.” She taps her finger against the tiny pixelated bubble on the yellowing page. God, did she really have to shove it into his face? It smells putrid. “Then, for your next comeback with Baby, Don’t Stop with Yusuke, you were quoted to have said, ‘ _girls with medium-length hair_ ’.”

“Makoto, I don’t even remember _half_ of the things I say during these interviews. Although I'd like a reminder, if you don't mind: did I say ‘ _girls with chest-length hair_ ’ next?”

“No. You said – “ She pauses, squinting slightly. “Oh. You said, ‘ _kind-hearted, cute girls_ ’.” Makoto’s expression furrows into a look of disapproval. “Now, I don't consider myself a dating expert, but I believe this is what we call ‘ _fickle_ ’.”

“If we were living normal lives, then sure, I don't mind getting called out. But since this is the world of idols, I'd like to point out that _that_ , my fake-girlfriend,” Ren clarifies smoothly. “Is what Kawakami would call the _perfect_ answer. Vagueness is what keeps the idol fantasy alive, gets our albums off the shelves, and helps get us paid." 

She shrugs, slightly deflated. "I suppose. At the very least, I appreciate your honesty." Rubbing a finger behind her brows, Makoto mumbles quietly, "I know I voluntarily signed up for this kind of life, but the amount of deception and lies that we have to tell to keep our careers afloat _truly_ makes me ill."

"My apologies for being blunt, perhaps, but _why_ did you become an idol in the first place?"

His question seems to catch her off guard, and she laughs weakly. "W-what? Are we having a heart-to-heart conversation in Leblanc right now?" But noting his gaze boring intensely into her own, she tucks her fist underneath her chin. Closing her eyes briefly in contemplation before opening them again: it's almost as if she has to emotionally prepare herself before telling him. "Despite it all, I don't think there's anything else that I enjoy in life more than performing. It sounds incredibly simple, but it's true. Being able to be on stage is enough of a motivation for me to keep pursuing this career, and Sis - " She sets her arms onto the table once more, scrunching the page tightly. "Plus, Sis worked _really_ hard to help see my goals come to fruition, even if she didn't agree with it at the start. The last thing I would ever want is to let her down."

A sheepish grimace crawls across her face as she murmurs, "I'm so - sorry. It's probably not an answer you expected from someone like me, right?"

"Surprising? Not really," Ren says matter-of-factly, sweeping his bangs away from his forehead. "Everybody can tell: you certainly didn't become an idol just because of the fame and stardom."

"Hmm. I guess - well, I'm glad to hear that I'm doing a somewhat good job." 

" ** _Well_** ," he begins airily. "We're not dismissing that one time you ignored that poor soloist when you two sang 'Dream' - "

"Oh, gosh, let's not talk about that," Makoto groans, palming her forehead in exasperation. " ** _Please_**. I know, I messed up bad - "

"But the bottom line is," he continues, pacifying her complaints with a comforting smile. "This industry is very fortunate to have someone like you around. Trust me."

There's a stagnant silence that sits between them as she looks him straight in the eye, seemingly shocked at his words. And Ren, despite wanting his words to be well-intentioned and encouraging to his labelmate, senses an uneasiness growing within his insides that prompts him to say quickly, "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomf - "

Makoto shakes her head vigorously first before slowing down to a standstill. And, in what seemed like ages ago, she finally relaxes and gives herself a chance to smile. A genuine grin that seems to light up the room better than whatever Sojiro has installed, at least. "Well, I can say the same for you, too."

Upon hearing those words leave her mouth, Ren flinches, nearly choking on last bits of the coffee grinds in his cup. 

...Well. _Shit_. He expected everything - chastising about being overly flirtatious in a fake-relationship, or worse. Anything, but that.

And God damn, does it feel nice to hear it, warming his heart enough to perform soaring somersaults in his chest. Thank God it's dimly-lit and Boss refuses to invest in better lightbulbs because the last thing he needed was her witnessing him - namely, the rightfully nicknamed Mr. Tall, Dark, and Placid - flushing in embarrassment over words of affirmation that he receives at every single fan-signing event. What would she say? Hell, what would his _members_ say? 

"Um, w-well, you _say_ that," he says in an attempt to recover from his clumsy display. "And while I'm definitely flattered, the more important question is - " Leaning his body towards her, he asks, "Am I getting close to overtaking Takuya Kimura as your ideal type?"

"Well, how about you cut your hair first into a more manageable and tameable style first?" Makoto teases, carding her fingers through his parted bangs. "And _then_ we'll have a long talk about that. Scruffy hair that resembles that fictional wizard protagonist doesn't quite meet my expectations, for starters."

Oh.

 _Ouch_.

Okay, but you know what? He's not complaining. It's a small step forward, even if she _is_ hitting him in the place that hurts the most.

But just to be on the safe side, he'll get a trim.

( _Maybe_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I getting too ambitious by including too many Confidants into this story?
> 
> No. No, of course not! C: 
> 
> As for that little tidbit about Sae not wanting Makoto to get taken advantage of: sadly, it's one of the dark truths behind K-Pop - although nowadays, aren't we getting a lot of this in Western entertainment as well? As much as I enjoy and consume the media, the fact is, K-Pop trainees don't have a surefire chance at success, which is why many of them are also coerced into performing sexual favours with more influential people who are higher up in the entertainment industry to increase their chances of debuting. 
> 
> I won't elaborate more on it, but conclusively, it's an awful, horrible situation and leaves many of these young teenagers vulnerable and unprotected, especially if they're casted into shadier companies. If you're interested, please feel free to read more about this [right here!](https://seoulbeats.com/2017/06/the-k-pop-casting-couch-sexual-coercion-by-entertainment-suits/)
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed - and truly, thank you to all of you who have kept this story in your subscriptions for so long and not giving up on it. <3 Take care, stay safe and I'll see you all next time!


	5. Makoto.

In an industry as vicious as this one, it wasn’t enough to simply evade the Six Deadly Sins as a means of achieving success. This was especially true in the idol department since there were so, so, so many other components involved: skill, talent, variety show personalities, social media history, the dreaded It Factor (which, in most cases, is something that many trainees lack and fail to develop, even with years upon years of practice) –

And most importantly (as per Kawakami’s Guidebook to Idol Success just a few months prior to Red Queen’s debut): “an image of relatability – tinged with an exquisite air of unattainability”.

(“Um, hey Makoto, are we **_really_** taking advice from a washed-up ex-pop star?”

“Um, good question. I’ll get back to you on that, Futaba.”)

At the time, starry-eyed, naïve Makoto wasn’t too sure what that meant. Could it be that she meant emulating royalty, since their group name did involve a queen? Was Kawakami, perhaps, talking about sophistication then? No, that couldn’t be right. Idols and members of the royal family were not of the same prestige – not by a long shot. Then again, searching her name on Twitter when their debut concept photos were released _did_ bring up some uncomfortable Tweets along the lines of: 

>   
>  _@LadyMakwots – Jul 29_  
>  _STEP ON ME, QUEEN._
> 
> _@Makyuties – Aug 1_  
>  _QUEEN. **SHIT**. _
> 
> _@DearKoto – Aug 4_  
>  _My queen. I love her already. UWU._
> 
>   
>    
> 

And of course, Makoto being Makoto, she couldn’t tell whether it was meant positively or negatively. Futaba reassured her that it was supposed to be a compliment, so eventually, she was left slightly flattered – but mostly concerned. She didn’t want to step on anybody, for one, and of course, she’s not a queen. Not even close.

It wasn’t until a month post-debut where Red Queen was selected as the featured cover artist for SEVENTEEN, and she was asked a single question, where it _finally_ clicked as to what Kawakami had meant.

> _Q: Mako-chan! Here’s a question from one of our fellow readers! What do you like to do in your sparetime?_
> 
> _A: Haha (Nervous laughter), can I actually say this? I know this may strike as somewhat odd and strange, but I actually enjoy studying on my spare time. It’s very therapeutic for me. And had I not debuted as an idol, I would like to think that I would’ve been studying to become a lawyer._
> 
> _Q: I have never met an idol who enjoys such a hobby, but that’s incredibly fascinating! I know that your high school years are long behind you now, but what was your favourite subject?_
> 
> _A: Oh, that’s actually – quite difficult! I don’t think I have a specific subject that I like – I like everything. Everything **and** anything. I do have a better comprehension of Japanese history, but I do wholeheartedly enjoy biology. _

Makoto was absolutely certain that she would’ve gotten flack for such a response. Perhaps it was too candid, too honest. And there was a small part that was questioning whether she should’ve embellished her answer slightly. But hey, in her defense, they asked – she simply answered in a way that would allow her to retain a small semblance of normalcy, and incorporate that into her hectic stage persona.

(That, and well, female idol groups tend to lose value with age – if she doesn’t embark on her solo act when her contract is over, she’ll need something to fend for herself when she eventually fades from the limelight.)

> _@RedKweens_ – Sept 3_  
>  _She was studying to be a lawyer before all of this. And she still continues to study. Absolute queen shit. Stan Red Queen. Stan Makoto._  
>    
>  _@Maqueen – Sept 5_  
>  _She’s not only a stage idol, but also such a good role model??? I – Queen, please. You can‘t attack us like this._

But as it turns out, it was the **perfect** answer: an answer that had not only indirectly conveyed her status as a semi-popular celebrity but also showcased her relatability to Red Queen’s target audience. Her words were, as the interviewer had put as a footnote near the end of the article, ‘ _refreshing and charming; poised, graceful and extremely likable, breaking the stereotype of a ditzy, helpless idol; a rising rookie; someone to look out for’_ and that likability had transcended into something much more: fans – both young and old, either struggling through basic equations, college entrance exams or university midterms – seeking out her advice through the online messaging platform that was constantly monitored; cram schools, making numerous phone calls to the company, asking a flabbergasted Makoto to be their spokesperson; variety shows requesting Makoto – and her being put on the spot, answering trivial questions, because the company wanted her to show her stuff. 

It was kind of like this.

If Makoto – an idol who worked herself to the bone to debut, who would eventually be raking in royalties and had no need to study, but did it anyway _purely_ for her own joy and happiness and to better herself – then they can too.

Not much has changed in regard in the present day; only that, well, she’s not exactly studying for her own enjoyment, considering that the subject at hand was her _boyfriend_ –

“Correction,” Futaba shouts loudly as she passes by the hallway into the shared kitchen of their dormitory. “ _Fake_ -boyfriend.”

Makoto grits her teeth together, hand curling tightly around her mouse that was just about to flip the virtual flashcard to reveal the answer.

“Mm. _Right_.”

Ren Amamiya. Leader of Trickster Game.

Main rapper, sub-vocalist, lead dancer. Quite the triple threat. No wonder he’s so adored by the producers, choreographers, and fans alike.

Has penned at least ten title tracks that consistently rank high on the charts (one song also broke into the Billboard Hot 100, sitting at position 99 before falling out of the ranking two hours later - he's trying though, she'll give him that).

Born near the end of March, but had specifically requested his fanbase to not plaster his face up on the Shibuya 109 building (she should’ve done that too – their intentions were good, but damn, was it also embarrassing when Sis sent her photos of the towering skyscraper with the accompanying caption: “ _Happy birthday, Makoto. But please tell me that they’re going to take this down by the next day because it’s rather distracting since I get a full view from my office at work._ ”

Much to her chagrin, they took it down.

An entire _week_ later.)

Things he liked didn’t include much. Most hobbies revolved around the duties that encompassed the idol life: performing, lyric writing, performing aerial stunts with Ryuji. Although, there _was_ that one article from the past year done with GQ where he mentioned he had been dabbling more into the artistic aspects of songwriting, like composition, rearrangement, and production. Maybe he’s trying to break out of the idol mold for good, and do more behind the scenes work when he tires of it? But then he also talked briefly about wanting to open up his own cafe, due to his immense love for coffee. Hmm, she’ll have to ask him that in person one day.

Current dislikes, however, were plentiful, but his top five included cherry tomatoes (so very peculiar and specific), cucumbers (another vegetable, **_really_**?), going on absurd diets, clingy cats and – huh, well, who would’ve thought? _Cleaning_.

Her eyebrow raises. Alright, then.

It didn’t take much brainpower on her end to memorize five years of interview material. Regurgitation in her own words would take some practice, but she still had twenty-four hours left before their promotional activities officially start. She’s been under more pressuring situations than this; she’ll make do.

And yet –

And yet, through it all, she can’t help but feel guilty. Guilty, over the fact that Ren’s been dragged into this without his consent. Guilty, for the fact that she had – regrettably – lashed out at _him_ over something that he didn’t have direct control over at all when he, too, was only trying to help make rational sense of the situation. But most of all, she’s guilty over the very fact that it’s already been more than five years since they’ve become acquainted.

More than five years, where they’ve seen both the best and the worst of the industry; more than five years of being trainees, where Ann and Futaba had persuasively coaxed him into sneaking to the convenience stores for late-night snacks, of being partnered for special stage collaborations, of being promoted as “close” labelmates under the oh-so-cheesy label of Shujin Class I –

When in actuality, she knows nothing.

Or at least, nothing about the _real_ him: the one underneath that flashy façade of picture-perfect smiles, album covers, idiosyncratic concepts, and noisy title tracks. He’s a rather interesting contrast compared to herself. Whereas she’s an open book, _he_ expertly disclosed nothing, keeping aspects of his non-idol life private. All she knows is the story of how his parents were eventually convinced that Ren would be the next big thing and that they couldn’t put his potential to waste. And even when the paparazzi chased him down to the ends of the world (Or, to put it more accurately, down the streets of _Shibuya_ in their vehicles in a raucous street race that would’ve put Tokyo Drift to shame), they found – nothing. 

In short, he's a complete enigmatic mystery, and here's where Makoto is finding herself questioning as she re-read his profile for the umpteenth time, what was he _actually_ like? What brought him here? To become an idol? 

( ~~And why is she choosing a time like now to care this much?~~ )

One way or another, she vows that she‘ll figure him out. One day at a time.

But for now though, she’ll just need to make do and hope for the best – 

“And not fuck this shit up!”

Makoto nearly flips, chiding in frustration, “Oh, goodness gracious, Futaba! I implore you to **_stop_** it with the mind-reading! And second! **_LANGUAGE_**!”

* * *

There’s about twelve hours left, and despite Makoto‘s initial confidence at the beginning, it seems to be waning. Tumbling downhill to the brink of no return like an inept skier on the steepest, most challenging ski hill.

“Yeah, uh, Makoto, that was **_shit_**.”

And it’s all because of Ryuji Sakamoto –

“I agree. I’m sorry, Makoto. That wasn’t remotely – “

“Uh, Ann, you know how to use the word ‘ _remotely_ ’ correctly in a sentence?”

“Grammar and vocabulary are not what we’re talking about!” Ann sighs, redirecting her attention back towards the petite, flabbergasted leader. “What I _wanted_ to say was, it wasn’t remotely convincing at all.”

 ** _And_** Ann Takamaki.

So, with most fake-dating schemes that Makoto has watched and eventually grown repulsed over due to its constant overuse in the world of Japanese dramas, the biggest takeaway was to make it believable. To pull it off in a way that makes the audience croon and crave a relationship like that, but not so over-the-top to make it queasy, cheesy or (in the worst-case scenario) **_un_** believable.

Sounds easy, right?

Apparently not.

Because if it wasn’t already discussed, Makoto is no actress. Hates it. No, _loathes_ it.

(And just for the record, no, commercials don’t count.)

Technically speaking, Ann isn’t a seasoned award-winning actress, either, but she did snag a few more roles in comparison so who else would be best suited in their tiny circle to give them feedback and guidance?

(Apparently, Ryuji calls himself pretty good too.

And of course, Ren and Makoto let him stay.

 _Ryuji_.

Of all people.

God.)

So, here they sit, cross-legged on the floor with the hour hand ticking towards the one. It’s not like they didn’t get any work done – Trickster Game had finished their final rehearsal of Bad Alive, as have Red Queen with Dumb, Dumb. It wasn’t a song that required much use of Makoto’s vocals this time around. Futaba and Haru were the stars of the show with the intense, hard-hitting choreography, so she wasn’t too worried. 

_This_ , though, this thing she had with Ren – oh, she was definitely worried about.

“I’d appreciate it if you could actually give us some pointers on what you _want_ us to do,” Ren snaps suddenly. Clearly, he wasn’t exactly in a gracious mood – very likely because his shirt was drenched in sweat and sticking to his body like second skin (her eyes flitted away in embarrassment the moment they dwelled a second longer on the definition of his abdominal muscles peeking through), and that he was running low on energy. "Because quite frankly Ryuji, ‘ ** _shit_** ’ can imply a lot of things.” 

“Like, that little stunt you're pulling? It sucked! Like shit” Ryuji retorts, rolling his eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “What else y’all want me to say?!”

“Well, for starters, you didn’t have to put it as crudely as _that,_ ” Makoto mumbles through pursed lips. She has half the mind to pull out her flashcards as a coping mechanism but decides against it the moment the practice room door creaks open. 

“She’s right, Ryuji- _kun_ ,” Haru chides. She's just returned from a quick trip to the nearby convenience store with Yusuke, the latter bringing a hefty load of snacks and drinks. “I agree. It certainly could be better, but Mako- _chan_ and Ren- _kun_ are trying and that, in of itself, should be applauded!”

“I don’t think it deserves _applause_ , Haru, but I appreciate it. Thank you,” Makoto says meekly, taking a sip of tea. She eyes Ren briefly, wondering whether she should say something about his shirt –

“Uh, Ren, bro. Change your shirt. You‘re gonna catch a cold like that.”

“Ah.” He nods, scurrying into the bathroom quickly before re-emerging again in no time at all. “Right. Thanks.”

 _Never mind that_ , she thinks. But there’s no way she would miss the way her heart sinks slightly in her chest. Clearing her throat, she questions abruptly, "Then, my apologies for the change in subject, but how about I ask you then, Haru? What exactly is it that we’re missing?”

“Hmm.” Haru looks particularly thoughtful as she gives her leader a hard, long glance. _Looks-wise_ , they were both easy on the eyes. Definitely two very attractive people with great facial compatibility. A match made in heaven, really, with their startling features of naturally red and onyx-tinted eyes and the sharp angular curves of their faces that would’ve granted them the label of a power couple.

But that being said, there’s also no ignoring the way that they both sat a good distance away from each other. Had Haru not known either of them, the pair would've appeared more like strangers, acquaintances or respectable, professional work colleagues at best. Makoto, especially, seems discomforted. She couldn't even maintain eye contact with Ren when they were rehearsing their answers - while she absolutely excels in terms of maintaining a poker-face, there's no mistaking the way her face had contorted slightly into a weak glare whenever Ren grew too near.

Whereas, when she compared them to Ann and Ryuji – now _those_ two certainly looked head over heels in love.

For one thing, Ryuji wasn‘t known for being able to maintain a long attention span to – virtually anything, really, but any time Ann spoke, he listened intently. Ann, on the other hand, expressed it through simple gestures. Like when she didn‘t hesitate to pass him his favourite drink after noticing how parched his throat became, or the very fact that she started rummaging through her bag for a lozenge. All in the little things.

“I think, to put it bluntly,” Haru says slowly, choosing her words carefully. “It‘s just that you two don’t _look_ like a couple. There’s no love – “

“As it should be,” Makoto adds crossly, cheeks tinging pink.

“And that’s _exactly_ where your problem is,” Haru presses. “How can you two deliver a convincing act that you two have been dating for quite some time if all of the evidence points towards the opposite? I know I’m being harsh, Mako- _chan_ , so I’m sorry but – “

But _what_? There’s no excuse that Makoto can fumble out, because like it or not, it’s the cold, hard truth. Practice all they want, but Haru is absolutely right: how can she even feign romance with someone that she isn‘t attracted to – or doesn’t know _much_ of, for that matter?

Eventually, the rest - sans Ren - choose to retire for the evening. She glances at the wall clock tiredly. Two in the morning. Maybe she ought to, too. Just as she was about to get up from the floor, however, a rugged, calloused hand extends towards her – but rather than helping her get to her feet, she found herself face to face with a thick deck of cards.

“I can’t believe you actually made flashcards for me,” Ren teases, watching her hurriedly snatch the stack away with a heated blush on her face. Now, when in the world did he take those?! _So embarrassing_. “I’m quite flattered.”

“Best way to study,” she replies with a short, forced laugh. “What can I say?” She glances at their post-practice equipment, left messily strewn around them, and adds quickly, “Ah, I should probably clean-up – “

“Let me help you.”

“Ren, it’s _two_ ,” Makoto says, although she found herself fighting a losing battle the moment they locked gazes. One thing she figured out was when Ren gives you that look™ (an overused, wide-eyed grimace that borderlines on a cute pout that he spouts at his fans during their fan signing events), there’s no other option: you _just_ need to concede defeat. _“_ You should get going.”

His lips pull together into a smirk. “And leave my fake-girlfriend here, alone and worrying her pretty head over absolutely nothing and conjuring up hypothetical scenarios that have little to zero possibility of happening? Not a damn chance.”

Her hands freeze.

_Wait, **what?**_

“I don’t – understand – “

Ren laughs, crisp, clear, and carefree. “As I said before, you don’t need to put up a guard, Makoto. It’s just the two of us here.”

“You’re worried about me.” What she had intended to be a question bubbles out as an accusatory statement instead.

“Of course, I am,” Ren replies smoothly, tossing out the empty bottles left behind. “Because a little snitch has kindly informed me that you’ve been studying day in and day out – everywhere and anywhere. In the practice rooms, during your breaks, on your trips back to your dormitory. Now, I’m not naturally a nosy person in general but in such a case, I must ask. Do you not - " The room grows quiet. So quiet, Makoto hears nothing but her heart pounding thunderously against her ribcage. "Trust me?”

"What?!" Dumbfounded at his sudden inquiry, Makoto shakes her head vigorously. "No, no, of **_course_** not! W-why would you think that?! I _do_!" Oh God, she hopes that she sounded somewhat convincing. If not to herself, then at least him. _Please_. "I can't imagine - having to do this thing with anybody else! I'm grateful that you're my boyfriend, or I mean, _fake_ -boyfriend. You know very well what I mean - I, um, it's just that - " While she's at it, she might as well just keep going, right? "I know these flashcards aren't going to do much, but how else can I prepare so I don't let everyone down? I especially don't want to let you, of all people, down - you're already doing so much to help me, I don't know what else I can do to make sure that we pull it off. You know how I am, I hate dragging people - much less, my _**coworkers**_ \- deeper into my own problems because I didn't keep a close watch on Ann." She shakes her head again with a disappointed sigh expelling out of her lungs as she goes off on yet another tangent. "Oh, I knew I should've said yes to that rookie last year when he tried to ask me on a date - " 

She had expected a proper response. Something like, " _We'll be alright_ " or even, " _Get a grip, Makoto, you aren't a child_ " - but when she re-directs her gaze back at Ren, she didn't expect him to be - what is he even _doing_? Shoulders heaving, eyes glossy and bright, arms wrapped around his sides, and if her hearing's still alright, that definitely sounded like a chuckle -

Her jaw drops. She tells him all that gibberish (in retrospect, it really was - what was she even going on about?) - and he has the audacity to laugh in her face?!

"Hey, don't laugh!" She scolds, whipping him with her damp towel. "This is serious business!" 

"Makoto, oh, Makoto," he says at last with glee. "I'm sorry. But don't you worry a thing, I'm not laughing at you."

She could've chosen to stay angry or annoyed, but the moment she saw that smile again, whatever exasperation she felt towards him seems to dissipate like melting snow. "...You sure about that?"

He perches himself next to her, his long legs dangling off the table that she was leaning against. "You really did think a lot about this, huh?"

Makoto says nothing. Of course, she did. How can she not?

“Well - “ Ren begins, staring off into the corner of the practice room, absentminded. “If you're _that_ concerned about it, I suppose, there's only one solution to resolve your troubles."

She snaps her head towards him. "And that is?"

She should've expected this answer, but even then, she couldn't help but balk (rather expressively, mind you) when he responded with a devilishly mischievous, "Actually having you fall for me, obviously - "

" ** _WHAT_**?!"

"And I'm only joking."

"Of course, you are. You're just like Futaba; both are never up to any good," Makoto groans, jabbing him in the chest with her fist. 

He stifles a laugh, blocking her attack with his own. “Why, thank you, Makoto. I'll definitely take that as a compliment but you know - " Rather than continuing to speak, he lets a slight pressure - gentle and warm - take over instead. She feels it first, brushing through her mangled scalp. Eventually, becoming light pats every so often, even though the ends were damp with sweat. He's patting her head again, just like he did the other day when she had so heart-wrenchingly confided to him over everything and anything imaginable regarding their arrangement: her fear of uncertainty, the potential backlash -

And just like the other day, when she turns to look at him, there's that smile in place again. "You won't let me down. I have great trust in you. You'll be okay. We'll be okay. And," he shrugs, nonchalant. "Who can be certain that I won't be the one to mess up tomorrow? And hey, even if we do, then so what? No big deal, life goes on. The world will continue to spin. The sun will still rise. We'll both still have jobs at the end of the day, and you - you're still going to be one of SHUJIN&Associates legendary aces."

He pauses, letting his voice fade out into the emptiness of the practice room, before questioning innocently, "Ah, shall I continue on?"

It's strange. Very strange, as a matter of fact, because of all the people she expected to offer her guidance during a distressing time, who knew that it would continue to come from him? It wasn't Ann; not Haru; not Futaba - but _Ren_. A rather unlikely candidate, sure, but as she glances at him intently, there's a part of her that can't help but marvel over his reliability. Maybe it's just something that comes with being a leader, too, but certainly, he was doing a much better job than she ever could. 

It's - not just strange. But very impressive, too. 

Still, she chooses not to say anything else. Instead, she caresses his scarred arm soothingly in return. It's an act that not just surprises him, but herself as well because that truly is incredible progress considering she couldn't even fathom touching him so casually like this unless it was performance-related. Nonetheless, she offers him a smile of gratitude and whispers quietly, "As are you, Ren. As are you." 

Eventually, the pair do make their leave once the clock struck three. The fatigue and tiredness are especially noticeable, with the growing sagginess to Makoto's undereye bags and Ren's constant yawning. Still, she had one more task to accomplish before they parted. "Get home safely, okay? Oh, and - " Makoto quickly searches through her duffel bag as Ren looks onward expectantly. "Ah, found it! Here. Enjoy."

And with that, she presses a now-warmed can of Udagawa Soda into his outstretched palm.

"I um, I know you're supposed to drink that ice-cold - at least, that's what the instructions say," Makoto mumbles offhandedly, direly wishing that he didn't catch her latter words (that, yes, in fact, she read _how_ the beverage was supposed to be enjoyed). "But I hope you'll take it as it is? Or, you can refrigerate it back at the dormitory."

But it's not like Makoto had to babble on and on, because the moment she passed him her ( ~~admittedly, very lame~~ ) gift, his eyes seemed to - glitter. Glitter delightfully, like stars in the sky, and honestly, there was something rather childishly endearing in the way that his taciturn expression had spread into such a wide smile. He's grinning from ear-to-ear at something so - non-significant, yet he's treating it as if it were. How heartwarming.

"How did you know?"

"Have you forgotten that I'm an avid student, Ren?"

(Lies: she actually asked Yusuke the night before what Ren's drink preference was when coffee wasn't available.) 

“Either way," Makoto continues, drawing the frayed strap of her bag closer tighter. "I just wanted to use that as a way of saying thank you - you've been ever-so-patient and I couldn't be more - wait a moment." It's only _now_ \- where she's taking a good, long look, her crimson-tinted eyes taking him in from head to toe before focusing primarily on the choppy fringe and the faded undercut - that she noticed the sudden change in his appearance. "You did - something different. Wait, don't tell me: did you actually cut your hair?"

“Oh, I don’t know, Makoto,” he sings, and before Makoto could even react, there he goes again, prancing down the hallway, beaming brilliantly all the while. And just before the elevator closes its doors to descend towards the main floor, he adds cutely with a wink to go, “ _Did_ I? In the meantime, I'll see you tomorrow.”

Her first thought was: _Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable._

But soon after, once her heart had stilled, those thoughts were eventually replaced with solace, reassurance, and last but definitely not least: 

_I’m really glad it’s you, Ren. Truly. I hope you know that._

* * *

Now, in a perfect world, everything would turn out okay. Ren and Makoto wouldn’t be questioned as if they were stuck in an hour-long interrogation; they would answer their questions as appropriately as broadcast ratings would allow; promotional activities would proceed without any hiccoughs; people would eventually forget about it; a fake break-up can be staged; they both sing some angsty songs to get over their past; they would get pictured together again, smiling and laughing and show the world that even post-breakup, normal friendships are achievable and they're an exemplary case of that; normalcy will be established once more –

The problem is, this isn’t a perfect world. Things don’t always go according to plan. There _are,_ in fact _,_ such things called surprises.

And it all starts the moment Makoto arrived at the broadcasting center.

* * *

Red Queen arrived to the studio first around half-past ten. The van had stalled to a complete stop, and when the car door popped open with Kawakami leading the group, all four members had positioned themselves as they normally would with wide grins, cheerful waves, finger hearts, and peace signs for the ginormous crowd that had met them.

Makoto stood to the left, Futaba and Haru right smack in the middle, and Ann was positioned to the right. On the leaders’ count of 3, they greeted their rambunctious fans with their trademark slogan.

“It’s showtime! Hello everyone, we are Red Queen. It’s nice to see you all again.”

It was definitely a relief for Makoto as she had actually recognized most of the crowd that was accrued. Even more surprising was the fact that many of the familiar faces carried decorated placards, full of words of support. It wasn‘t something she would disclose to her members (it sounded too petty and un-Makoto-like to be concerned over something so trivial), but she secretly harbored a paranoid fear that the anticipated turnout would be less than ideal. 

Exhaling, she's just relieved that her nightmare didn't come true. They still appeared, screaming their names with gusto – there's that middle school student from last year who – if Makoto remembers correctly – was going into high school next year. And there’s her fan site master, Erudite M: that woman’s stuck by her side since pre-debut, through every miniature scandal, through comeback upon comeback, through both domestic and oversea concerts, and has never failed to show up to any of Makoto’s personal schedules, either. One thing was certain, her lenses were always, always, **_always_** laser-focused on Makoto.

(Unbeknownst to everybody else, Makoto actually has Erudite M’s photos saved on her phone – look, it’s not every day that you get a personal photographer who captures your best angles every single time.)

Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary then. In fact, everything seemed – so far, so good. She had been terrified out of her wits for nothing –

But it was then that she saw it. Her smile nearly faltered at the sight of a mask-clad young woman standing on what appeared to be an elevated platform – maybe a bench of some sorts. Either way, she really went out of her way to ensure Makoto saw it. And it wasn’t a pretty sight, to say the least: not the maliciousness swimming through her eyes and directing at her, and most definitely, not the placard that she held up with two hands –

_MAKOTO, BREAK-UP WITH REN-KUN. YOU **DAMN WHORE**._

Suffice to say, it stung. It stung so terribly that it nearly broke her poker-face - but she doesn't forget: she's an idol. And in the idol verse, there no such thing as asking for breathing room or leeway, in spite of the heavy amount of vitriol thrown towards her so blatantly like this.

So, she does nothing. Says nothing. Keeps her smile in place, because one frown would be enough to set off an inferno of inaccurate articles and subsequently, nasty comments online. 

There wasn’t much time for the quartet to dawdle, and Kawakami eventually ushered them off the carpet and into the staging area. The remaining three didn’t even have to ask when they arrived in their dressing room, because with just one look at Makoto, it was more than enough to tell that something was off.

“Mako- _chan_ , don’t be disheartened by just one vicious anti-fan!” Haru encouraged. “They aren’t worth your time, really!”

“O-oh, I know. It’s just – “ She doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest. Not to her members, not to her damn self.

“Ignore it, Makoto. You just need to ignore it. We’ve had our fair share of haters before – one little dent won’t make a difference at all. You’re better than her,” Ann urged, slinging her arm around Makoto's shoulders. “ ** _Much_** better.”

“Ugh, and it’s always like this with her,” Futaba grumbled with a roll of her eyes. “That’s RenAmamiyaDotCom. I recognize her. She’s one of Ren’s newer fansites, but is known to be a problematic bitch and shit-talks his older fansite masters too. Everybody hates her because she’s an absolute creep and hangs around the SHUJIN&Associates building, stalking Ren like there’s no tomorrow. She’s disgusting – and you’re not, Makoto! So, forget about her!”

In the end, her members were able to convince her that one bad apple wasn’t the end of the world. And while she certainly was shaken up, she also knew that it wasn’t the right moment to be coddled. She had a job to do.

* * *

Hair and make-up was typically Makoto's most favourite part during promotions: not only because she found it therapeutic, it was also one of those rare instances where she could fall asleep with her back hunched over and get some shut-eye. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case today and while it wasn’t the most catastrophic thing out there of all things that Makoto envisioned would go wrong during their first day of promotions, it certainly was more than enough to exhaust her. 

(Like, it's noon. And she's already tired. That says a lot.)

The young stylist has an eyeliner pencil resting behind her ear while one hand was wrapped around the handle of a foundation brush, glossy lips pursed and brows furrowed grumpily while grumbling, “I cannot believe you, Mako- _chan_. Me, of all people.”

Makoto sighs. This was inevitable. “Takao- _san_ , please – “

The woman shakes her head, disappointed as she expertly dabbed the peach-coated bristles onto Makoto’s cheeks. “I _still_ can‘t believe it.”

“B-but Takao- _san_ , you must understand – “

“Firstly!” The irate woman shrieks at last, losing all signs of her cool as she placed her finger against Makoto's lips. “My name is Eiko! Repeat after me! **Eiko**!”

This ‘ _it_ ’, of course, was having to get an undeserved scolding from Eiko Takao.

Now, Eiko Takao was not only Makoto’s personal stylist and her self-proclaimed best friend (a rather questionable claim, mind you), she was also an award-winning make-up artist and fashion expert. Despite her relatively young age, she’s already received numerous accolades under her belt for her avant-garde tastes and runway-worthy get-ups. Which was why, when Makoto was still a fresh-faced rookie, she wasn‘t exactly certain what part of her personally had appealed to Eiko to have her wholeheartedly disregard any calls made from the likes of Louis Vuitton and Yves Saint Laurent, and joined SHUJIN&Associates to personally style her.

(At the time, Eiko had claimed that while Makoto’s face was ‘chiseled by our Lord and Saviour, Jesus himself’, her fashion sense desperately needed some TLC since that look she was sporting was “not it”.)

And generally, Eiko was a likable woman – a tad loud at times, especially when she got dangerously inebriated during their year-end company parties (and Makoto means this quite literally, because Eiko nearly flung herself off the building roof, screaming about a non-existent crappy boyfriend who she vowed vengeance on), but she was an absolute magician with a make-up brush and, frankly, was hilarious in her own unique and unorthodox way. 

But not today.

“Alright, um, Eiko – “

“That’s better,” she huffs, opening up a tiny bottle of lip lacquer that looked alarmingly bright and pink for Makoto’s taste. “Now. C’mon. Your lips! Pucker up so I can’t hear ya talk! You, young lady, you need to let me complain!”

Yep.

 **Definitely** not today.

On a less chaotic day, Makoto would’ve considered reasoning with Eiko but with all things considered, her stylist had a rather menacing weapon in her hands that could definitely make or break her with a single swipe gone wrong. And that’s why, Makoto abided, staying absolutely still as Eiko continued to run her grouchy mouth.

“Good! Now, tell good ol’ Eiko why you didn’t tell me you were in a relationship with that unruly-haired boy toy of yours!" If it wasn't obvious, Eiko was also the type of stylist who could manage multi-tasking extremely well. Quite the astounding power, considering that her hands were now occupied with Makoto's least favourite device (the eyelash curler, oh God) and she was crimping away like there was no tomorrow whilst spewing out complaint upon complaint. Didn't her throat get _dry_? "Am I not good enough for ya idol folk that you couldn't even tell me that you were dating when I was trying to introduce you to potential prospects? Huh?!”

“Th-that definitely wasn’t it, Eiko. Please. You know how this industry operates. We just wanted to - oh, _ouch_! My eyelashes! E-Eiko- _san_ , I think you're tugging a bit too hard on them with the - "

"Hmph. Serves you right for not telling me!" Fortunately, Eiko did take her yelps of pain into consideration and eventually eased off on the pressure applied when popping the beauty blender on. Very unfortunately, however, was the fact that it seemed to set off her rage even more. "Y'all were sneaking around, under my nose, and here _I_ am, looking like some dumb fool!" 

And as much as Makoto could try to console the stylist with apology upon apology, Eiko didn't seem pleased at all. Maybe a fruit basket would get Makoto back in her good graces - the idol adds it to her mental to-do list, quickly bowing her thanks before rushing for the door.

“Now, hold it! Just hold - **_it_**! Where are you going, young lady?!”

“I just um,” Makoto stammers, grasping the door handle tightly. “Need some air. I’ll be right back, Eiko- _san_!" 

(She definitely won't miss the way that Eiko's shrill scream of, ' _SEEING YOUR BOY TOY, HUH? I SEE YOU!_ ' would echo for a long, _long_ while.)

* * *

Now, if there's one thing that Eiko got right, it was that Makoto did have intentions of dropping by Trickster Game's dressing room to see Ren - but not for whatever dirty ploy the stylist was cooking up in her rather imaginative (not to mention perverted) mind. It would be their final chance to corroborate their stories and answers before the ~~dreaded interrogation~~ interview - 

(And Ren's presence seems to be doing her much more good in terms of easing her anxieties before having to go live.) 

But as it turns out, she didn't have to look far: just a few steps of sauntering down the hallway (and completely ignoring the way that a group of young stagehands was eyeing her as if she were a piece of meat), and she hears Ren's voice emerging, crystal clear, turning the corner. “Ah, Makoto!”

She won't lie: Ren looks - good. _Great_ , even. Dressed to the nines in an all-black ensemble, with leather trousers that sat snugly around his hips, dark, smoky make-up that only added to the allure of Tall, Dark and Handsome, sterling silver jewelry chained around his neck and his trademark crimson-red gloves. Even to this day, she's not too sure why the gloves were necessary - but now that she's observing him from afar, she does agree that it gives his outfit an extra pop of colour. Apparently, his fan girls had a certain ~~kink~~ liking towards concealed hands. Who knew? 

Most alarmingly, however, was when her eyes fell to his exposed torso.

No shirt. No tank top. Nothing.

Just an open blazer, tanned, healthy skin, and a smug (excuse Makoto for cursing), shit-eating, and victorious grin that he wears for the camera whenever they panned towards him as that performance's 'ending fairy'. 

_Oh, my God._

So, rather than muttering a shy compliment that she had originally intended, she - aghast and slightly ashamed of herself for ogling a second too long at the lean musculature that she had absolutely no idea existed underneath his lanky frame (and why would she even **_think_** about that in the first place?!) - gestured to his half-naked display and hisses, "What! What is **_that_**?! Where's your shirt!?" 

To which, he ignores her question (as he always does) and says amusedly, "Why, thank you, Makoto. I suppose I'll take your beet-red face as a compliment, but wow, look at yourself." It seems as though Ren shares the same sentiments as her, letting out a low-toned whistle as he drinks her in with his eyes. Up and down. Left and right. "You look great." Whether his words were just for show, or if they truly came from the heart, Makoto isn't too sure, but her cheeks are flaring hotter than ever - 

(And for God's sake, she really needs to stop staring.) 

"That's a nice touch of glitter along your brow, Makoto. I'll assume it's Eiko- _san_ 's work?"

"Naturally. You know me, I would never ask for it." 

"She must be in a rather horrid mood to put things that you don't want on your face," Ren comments offhandedly. Lowering his voice to a quiet mumble audible to her ears only, he says, "So, whereabouts do you want to talk?"

"Well, I was thinking maybe - " 

Her train of thought is disrupted, however, upon the sudden arrival of a certain someone.

"Oh, why, if it isn't the two residential lovebirds of the year!"

A certain someone that Ren will never hesitate to ~~talk~~ vent on and on and on over how " _He's not my rival; he's not worthy enough to be considered as such_ "; a certain someone that Ryuji absolutely despised for " _jumpin' ship to another entertainment company, 'cause he didn't know how to play nice and should go back to Kindergarten to learn";_ a certain someone that Yusuke claims cannot be named in the practice room (or else, Ryuji would throw an absolute fit and would lose any form of concentration) - 

"Akechi - " Makoto's tongue clicks for a moment before she finally greets stiffly, "Kun. How - very nice to see you again."

And judging by the picture-perfect smile he's casting at the pairs' direction, Goro Akechi definitely didn't seem as if he were in a rush to leave for his schedules either.

Rather, he was - elated.

More than pleased to see them again as well.

"And what an absolute _pleasure_ it is, Makoto- _chan_."

* * *

_[enter-talk] Trickster Game: “Bad Alive” - We’ll show you a new side that you’ve never seen before!_

> _1\. [+3, 928, -1, 093] I'm looking forward to seeing MakoRen during their pre-performance interview. Surely, there's going to be some cute banter, no doubt about it! ^^_
> 
> _2\. [+3, 258, -857] REN-KUN, PUT YOUR SHIRT BACK ON?!?!_
> 
> _3\. [+3, 502, -545] BAD ALIVE IS SO GOOD?!_
> 
> _4\. [+245, -2, 587] Song’s weird. Who wants to hear them talking about thousand-dollar shoes? Also, Ren still looks homeless as fuck. Grab a jacket, why don't you, you fucking dumbass._
> 
> _5\. [+2, 984, -633] The desperation is thick and heavy in the comments section for Mako-chan, lololol._
> 
> _6\. [+982, -321] Can we please not bring up poor Mako-chan in every Trickster Game related article? She already has it hard enough._

_[NEWS!] Red Queen‘s Makoto for Dumb, Dumb: A Dumb, Dumb no more! The Aftermath of Dating - Growing More Charming by the Day!_

> _1\. [+2, 810, -583] Pretty girl! So, so pretty! Is it just me or are her eyes sparkling a lot more now that the news is released? Ren-kun must be making her so happy and she must be so relieved to have this out in the open. Ah, she'll forever be my bias. >3<_
> 
> _2\. [+2, 221, -431] Haru-chan's dancing never fails to keep me captivated! Really solidified her position as main dancer! Haru-chan, keep working hard! I’m rooting for you! Ann-chan looks especially good this era. Their coordis did them all justice this time around. Futaba-chan's rapping also improved a lot since their last comeback - and of course, Mako-chan, our ace who does well no matter the circumstance! Best of luck during your first live broadcast!_
> 
> _3\. [+1, 896, -220] Hnng, I just can't get over the way he looks at her in those photographs from that breaking article. TT_TT_
> 
> _4\. [+443, -1, 208] Stupid bitch._
> 
> _5\. [+1, 009, -231] Pft, Comment #4: Is that really the best you can do? Try harder. Mako-chan's doing much better than you._
> 
> _6\. [+723, -10] There's no doubt about it. Commenter #4 **has** to be RenAmamiyaDotCom. She's - nuts. Literally like, fucking insane. Run while you can, Ren-kun. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe that the year has already to an end like that (and good riddance LOL). But for those of you who have stuck around and waited so patiently, thank you so much, and the biggest Happy New Year to you! :) It feels strange to say this, especially since we're still swimming around in so much uncertainty due to the pandemic. And certainly, it's not going to be fixed with just the turn of a new year, but I'm holding onto the hope that we'll make it through and things will make a turnaround for the better. That's why, for this year, I won't say much other than the following: stay healthy, be safe, always be happy and I hope that you can do all the things that you wish to do that give you joy. 
> 
> With that being said, I know. I'm awful LOL. It's taken a full half-year to update this story. During that time, lots of new changes have happened in both my personal ventures and with fandom life as well, which has lead me to stray away from P5 as a whole. However, like I said the last chapter, while updates may be sporadic, I promise you that I won't leave CoTU unfinished. :) Thank you, everyone, for sticking by this story, leaving comments, kudos and adding this to your subscriptions as well. I hope my self-indulgent ficlet is able to provide you with some joy and entertainment during these trying times. 
> 
> Also, I need to give the biggest shout-out and kudos to the lovely EwiKnight. Not only for inspiring me to continue writing this piece, but also for screaming with me regarding all of these idol x P5 crossover headcanons. Erudite M was also her idea for a fansite name - and my goodness, I am never going to shut up about it because it's just THAT. GOOD. Please check out her fics and give her a follow on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/EwiKnight) as well! :) 
> 
> Idol-related notes/terminology:
> 
> [Red Queen's arrival at the broadcasting studio is very similar to what this is like LOL.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_fPcAN3uDpM&t=45s)
> 
> There's a really interesting article for what a fan site master is. Check it out [here](http://www.thekrazemagazine.com/latest-updates/2019/8/11/fansites-a-sit-down-with-one-of-the-most-misunderstood-members-of-the-k-pop-fandom#:~:text=Fansite%20Masters%2C%20also%20known%20as,and%20even%20as%20room%20decorations.).
> 
> [Trickster Game's title track and stage outfit inspirations are all thanks to WayV's Bad Alive. I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH. HNNG. Take a guess who Ren is supposed to based off of X'D](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sB2YVGPPXW0)
> 
> And last but not least, ending fairy is a term that's used to describe the member who gets the "last shot" during a performance. Please see [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=znrCj-YFVrA) for what it's supposed to be like. Traditionally, they'll attempt to look smoldering and cool - other times, well, I'll leave that up to your own interpretation LOL. 
> 
> As always, please be safe and always take care and be kind to yourselves. :) I'll see you all another time!


End file.
